Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shay did not like abusing her position as a library assistant, but drastic times called for drastic measures. Midterms were fast approaching. Many of her classmates were cracking into their studies, others simply cracked, and even more, cracked into alcoholic drinks.

She could not blame them. She wished she could simply just “crack”, but she’ll do that after midterms.

Backpack slung over her shoulder, phone in hand, she treaded with purpose through campus. The night was dark, the campus was still. During the day the grove was bustling with student life. Devoid of students and university employees, the grove took on an unnerving, empty presence…almost void-like in nature.

It was only the night, the streetlights, and Shay. From houses, dorms, and apartments the muffled racket of Friday night revelry permeated the tranquil, chilly night air.

Early in the night, Shay had made an effort to study in her room at her rented house with her housemates. With a long week of classes done, many were ready to let loose, and continue their studies Sunday night. What started out a small get-together over popcorn and movies among her housemates evolved into a full blown rager.

Shay managed to hold out as long as she could. Eventually, she packed up her books, her laptop, and a few other sundry items. She locked the door to her room and headed to the library.

She sent a message to her boss detailing her situation. There were study halls further across campus, but she found the dark, corridors of the library a more welcoming seclusion. She could also play her music as loud as she wanted without fear of bothering her fellow classmates.

She walked past the library’s front, her shadow projected on it, like some giant trudging off to war. The library’s front was empty save for a few benches and the cavorting statues of the Greek Muses, dancing in a circle. Illuminated by the streetlights, the statues looked like a coven of witches summoning a demon more than frolicking muses.

She unlocked the backdoor of the library and relocked it behind her. The library felt like an entirely different entity than that the outside world. It was contained. The darkness, the silence, the echoes of the library halls and floors would be her welcomed, helpful companions for the next few hours.

Shay sought out a secluded table at the back of the library far from prying eyes. Once situated, she cracked open an energy drink and a turned her music on. Modest Mouse seemed like a perfect match for the night. For the next hour Shay was lost in her studies and mellow beats. Occasionally the air would kick on, rattling and wheezing, echoing through the building like an asthmatic monstrosity. Creaks and cracks from the aged building added to the relaxing cacophony of the night. The smell of books and lingering smells of coffee from the coffee shop were her incense. At infrequent intervals, the outside would creep in through a few loud cheers or jeers and the loud sputtering of a car engine. It was not enough to drive Shay from her table.

Nothing lasts forever, and a quandary in Shay’s studies sent her down the library corridors in search of a book, that would hopefully, contain her answer and allow her to return to the lull of her studies. Phone in hand, illuminating her way, Shay navigated the labyrinth of books shelves. Her footsteps echoed like thunder through the empty library.

The Illusion of Imaginary Numbers, she hoped she could find it. The internet claimed the book would help her. The library catalogue claimed the book was somewhere on the shelves among the natural sciences and mathematic books.

Shay’s phone could only brighten her path so much. She resorted to going from book to book, growing more irritated as she read down every spine. Someone did not return the book to its correct place on the shelf. Frustrated, Shay was caught between trying to continue her search and maybe find it, or just return to her table and figure it out on her own.

Undaunted, Shay went down on all fours, and peered underneath the shelves. Perhaps it was knocked onto the floor and kicked under the shelving unit. It has happened before. When it came to imaginary numbers, she could see someone punting any book about that subject matter into the sun without a second thought or ounce of guilt. Using the flashlight, she peered under the shelves. She received nothing but a sinus full of dust.

Nothing, Shay, groaned and remained, prone the floor. Eventually, she pulled herself into a sitting position but remained on the floor, staring down the black library passageways. For a few moments, she sat there, meditating, until finally mustering the energy to stand up. As she brushed the dust and carpet fibers from her clothing, her eyes caught something, lying flat on top of the other books.

“Are you kidding me?” she muttered, seeing her prize.

With her keen eyes, she noticed several other misplaced books. She muttered to herself and made a mental note to redo this section on her next work day. Clutching the book to her chest, Shay turned and set to head back down to her table. One more hour of studying, then she’ll head home. Maybe she’ll stop at the local mart and pick up a quick snack to end the night of a sweet, salty note.

A scraping noise caught Shay off guard. She quickly turned around; phone aimed into the shadows. A book fell from the shelves and struck the floor with a dull thump, obviously shaken loose from its spot her rooting around on the shelves and someone’s shoddy refiling skills. While she could accept leaving misplaced books on the shelves for later, she could not leave a book on the floor.

She tucked her book under and walked went to collect the tome and return it to…hopefully…its correct place on the shelves. She kneeled down to retrieve the book from the floor and was immediately perplexed by the appearance of the book.

It was a large, heavy tome, looking similar to an encyclopedia. Covered in a maroon leather, the book bore not title on its front cover, no call numbers on its spine. It pages appeared to be gilded. Perhaps it was a special book from storage someone has misplaced, or someone’s personal notebook, accidentally misplaced during their studies. Confounded, Shay went to open the book to find any markings, only to slice her finger on the edge of a page.

Before she could even cuss, she was gone. The mysterious book dropped to the floor with a thud, echoing through the now empty library.

Too startled to catch herself, Shay, her book, and her phone struck the snowy ground with a painful thump. Rattled, hands burning from the freezing snow, and knees throbbing from her landing, Shay lay on the ground for several moments. It was dark, it was freezing, and snowing. She was surrounded by a dark forest comprised of bare, black barked trees. Regaining some of her wits, she pulled herself in a sitting position. She wiped the snow from her glasses and looked around.

Anxiously, she collected her few belongings and stood up.

She checked her phone…no service. Rubbing her shoulders, she looked around. It was snowing, the snow glowing with the light from the stars and the moon. Shay glanced up at the sky. It was brighter, full of more stars than the night sky over her college campus.

Shay knew, right then and there, she was not home anymore. She glanced her phone. The battery was dying, of course. The date and time were turned into a garbled mess of flashing numbers and symbols. Did the drop break her phone?

Dressed in only jeans, her college hoodie, a baseball t-shirt and armed with a dying phone, Shay’s prospects of walking out of here were thin.

Wrapping one arm around herself, Shay used her flashlight to find at least a pathway or maybe even a sign. Fortunately, she found the latter, or at least, she hoped it was a sign, hammered into a tree a few feet from where she had materialized. Shay wiped the snow from the slat.

RING FOR SERVICE

What.

She gnashed her teeth and nearly screamed, until she saw a rope, buried in the snow. Her eyes followed the rope to a sizable bell, partially obscured under the powdery layer of snow. Cold and desperate, Shay pulled the cord. With a metallic creak, the bell rung out into the silent night.

Almost instantly, soft blue globes, perched among the tree branches, sparked up, lighting the forest with a blue glow and illuminating a clear pathway through the shadowy trees. Moments later, Shay heard a wooden door fling open and tired sounding grumbling. The amber light of a lantern flickered through the trees followed by heavy footsteps in the soft snow and frozen ground.

Shay was conflicted. Wanting to either run and hide or wait for her unknown benefactor. A wolf howled in the distance. Another responded. Then another. Shay braced herself.

“Um, hello?” she called out after several minutes. Panic was rising in her chest.

“Hello,” a male voice clearly answered from down the path. “You didn’t climb a set of stairs out in the middle of the woods, did you?”

Shay paused, “Uh…no.”

“Weird mirror?”

“No,” she answered.

She was freezing and playing a game of twenty questions with some mysterious stranger out in the middle of the woods. AND her belongings were still sitting out at the library. Her phone was also dying. Anxiously, she shut it off.

“Hidden cubby hole behind a bookcase? Mysterious ring of glowing mushrooms or weird stones constructed also in a circle in the middle of the woods?” he listed as he neared.

“A book, I was studying in the library and a weird book fell out of the shelf and when I went to put it back, I cut my finger,” Shay exasperatedly explained through chattering teeth. “And now I’m here.”

“Ah yes, that,” he responded with a slight irritation to his voice.

“So where is here?” Shay asked.

A massive figure, dressed in a hood cloak, stepped in front of her. In one hand he held a lantern. A quilt was draped over his other arm. He stood well over seven feet tall. The dark robes and the darkness of the night made him appear even more formidable.

“You’re not in Narnia,” he answered. He tossed her the blanket.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

Before she could speak up, he spoke again.

“You’re not in Middle-Earth.”

She went to open her mouth.

“Or Hogwarts. Or Krynn.”

She tried to pipe up

“You didn’t suddenly turn into a planeswalker or travel back in time,” the figure wearily listed on it clawed fingers. “You are also not the chosen one. This world is not in danger. You just randomly came across a magical inter-dimensional relic, and activated it.”

“I just wanted to thank you for the blanket,” she said. The blanket was very warm and very soft. It smelt of cedar and lavender. Her mind was at ease. Obvious, this person has some knowledge of the modern world.

“Oh, sorry,” the figure answered, taken back. “Sorry…I am very, very accustomed to a certain type who manage to transport themselves here.”

“So where is here?” Shay asked.

“A hub world, a magical layover for those traveling between realms,” he answered. “I am the custodian, the sentinel of this particular spot, helping those along with their travels. Let’s get out of the cold. I’ll explain more when we’re somewhere safer and set you up for the night.”

With his lantern, he motioned down the pathway. He spun around revealing a thick, long tail, poking out from underneath his robes. Shay froze, staring at him as he walked away.

In the darkness, she tried to scrutinize her benefactor. The way the hood set upon his head suggested there were horns hidden underneath. He sauntered a way, leaving clawed, three toed prints in the snow. Shay remained back, staring at his shrinking form and fading lantern light.

Oh dear…he’s a goddamn dragon.

Shay braced herself and stepped back, heart racing in her chest. Her mind was trying its best to comprehend her current position and formulate a possible escape. A wolf howled. Shay froze, staring at the dark forest and the lantern light.

He turned, “Are you coming? There are worse things lurking out here than the wolves.”

Shay breathed in, collected herself, then jogged after him. He gave her a blanket, he seemed okay…a tad irritable…a tad flippant…but no real red flags…behavior wise. He was waiting for her.

“So will I be able to get home?” Shay asked.

“It’s easy enough,” he answered. “The stones that will send you home are just at the top of the mountain.”

He gestured off into the distance. Shay could see nothing but darkness.

“Oh,” Shay said. “That’s it? So, we’re heading there tonight?”

“Oh no,” he answered. “It’s late and dark. And once again there’s worse things out in these woods than wolves and the cold. We’ll head out in the morning; you’ll be back home before lunch.”

“That…that…that simple?” she asked as she walked along side him, her book clutched to her chest. She glanced into the darkness. Several pairs of eerily colored eyes watched them. She gulped and rushed up to him. “You’re going to help me get back home?”

“Anti-climactic, huh?” he explained bluntly. “Many people expect a grand adventure, something a tad more substantial than a walk in the park to a circle of stones. This a delicate ecosystem and dangerous to the uninitiated.”

He paused for a moment, cocking his head, considering his next line of conversation.

“It goes both ways. This world does not need geeks…nerd…dweebs…weeaboos… running amok and causing chaos with to whatever particular fantasy that they have running through their heads inspired but whatever piece of media that happens to be popular in your world. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, part of my job is making sure that they return home as soon as possible…”

“I promise I won’t cause any problems,” Shay answered. She attempted to get a better view of her benefactor.

The curves under the hood were definitely horns, curving like a ram’s horns, she suspected. Now she was wondering, perhaps, she had a goatman on her hands…or maybe some sort of chimera. A demon…

His shoulders slouched as he contemplated. He spoke again, his tone softer.

“I’m not too worried with you,” he answered. “Many have passed through this world. It is easy to assume which visitors are going to be problematic. You did not run blindly into the woods, or screamed, and you haven’t spent the entire walking quoting…things. Arguably the scared ones are the easiest to handle. Usually, they wear themselves out sprinting through the woods and screeching like banshees. I find them a few days later, exhausted. They’re pretty eager to get back home. This recent lot however…”

He groaned through his teeth. His hot breath poured out in the night like a cloud of smoke.

“It’s Shay, by the way,” Shay abruptly said. “Short for Shayne.”

She put her hand for him to shake it. He looked down at her presented hand. He chuckled and scratched his chin. He snorted. He did not shake her hand, but stepped away.

“Drake,” he answered curtly.

“Drake,” she responded, then paused, “Drake?”

“If my mother had her way, I would have been named Eugene,” Drake answered dryly. “Fortunately, my father in all his wisdom and simplicity, named me something more suitable.”

He pulled down his hood, back behind his horns and lifted up his lantern, revealing his draconic visage. A pair of curving ram horns curled along side his head. A second set of simpler, smaller horns started at his brows and pointed backwards over his curved horns. A thick ridge of scales grew between his horns and ran down the back of his head and neck. His large eyes, glowing gold in the light, faced forward. The eyes were quite human looking, though the pupils had a reptilian or catlike edge to them. His face reminded her of a cross between a tyrannosaurus rex and a ram, a tad bit of human mixed in to blunt the snout and add readability to his reptilian countenance.

Fortunately, he did not look like an uncanny valley, poorly animated CGI monstrosity born from the depths of a bloated movie budget. Shay was relieved, startled, but relieved. There was oddity to his face, but nothing that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. In fact, it did ease her anxieties.

Shay was still taken back, but probably not to the extent Drake was expecting. He pulled the hood back up over his head.

“I’m not a dragonborn or a draconian or an Argonian.” he stated, tiredly. “I’m not a lizaflo, dinoflo or quintaglio.”

He paused, arms crossed, then under his breath, said, “Or a furry.”

“I think the correct term is ‘scalie’,” Shay spoke up.

With a sudden twist, he turned to glare at her, eyes glowing. His narrow, pointed ears laid back against his horns. Comically, the glare was born out annoyance, rather than rage. She could only imagine what he has been through.

“Sorry,” Shay said, looking away. “I kinda figured you were some sort of dragon.”

“That easy?” he asked, he pulled his hood back down. He gave a small snort.

“I mean the tail and horns, the footprints,” she said. “It’s not okay to jump to conclusions and make assumptions, but what is a fantasy world without a dragon running about?”

A dragon running about on two legs, speaking English, and wearing a cloak none the less. One question was answered, but many, many more were raised.

He lifted the lantern, illuminating their tracks, “Hmm, I never thought of that. We’re here; my outpost, the Sentinel.”

At the end of their path was the rocky face of a mountainside. Built into the mountainside was a heavy wooden door, flanked by two orange-colored torches. Drake pushed the door open. Holding it open, he beckoned her in.

A gust of warm air struck Shay. Nervously, she treaded into the entrance. Drake watched her intently, as she walked past. With his gaze, Shay felt at ill-ease. She looked at the path before her, clutching the book closer to her chest. The entranceway split into three torch line tunnels.

Behind her, Drake shut the door. He removed his head robe and hung it on a hook. Underneath his cloak, he wore a white swordsman shirt tucked into a pair of knee-length blank breeches. He walked on his tiptoes with graceful strides. His feet looking like the feet of a therapod dinosaur with three clawed toes and a dewclaw. Without the snow or soft, frozen ground to mute his steps, his claws clicked on the stone floor as he moved about. His tail lazily swished behind him, more catlike than snake or lizard like. His hands were humanlike, ending in five fingers with sharp, pearly gray claws at the end.

In the light of the torches, she could see Drake was a deep emerald color with darker pine green patches on his forearms and shins. The back of his thick crest darkened to near black. His gaze returned to her, as if he was trying to read her. Shay shrunk back.

He caught himself. His face darkened with a blush, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m…I’m trying to see your book. I spend my spare time reading…and I have plenty of spare time.”

He looked away at the tunnel wall, tapping his pointer fingers together.

“Oh,” Shay said. She held the book up, “I was searching for this book when I found the other book.”

“I do not suppose you could relinquish your book?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, I need this for midterms, and it is a library book, so it is not mine to give,” Shay answered.

“Understood,” he responded with a nod and a disappointed tone to his voice. “I’ll lead you to your accommodations for the night.”

Drake blew out his lantern, but held on it.

Shake followed Drake down a tunnel. The walls and floors were smooth. Every few feet there was a sconce, lit with white fire that brightened the hallway as well as any modern-day light fixture. Shay noticed the fire did not smell of burning nor left any smoke or residue on the walls. Sprinkled sporadically along the hallways were nooks, carved and shaped into the stone. Vases, statues, and large specimens of crystals decorated the nooks. Occasionally, they’d pass a finely made tapestry baring some fantastic scene or a doorway or another tunnel forking oft into another direction.

To Shay, it felt more like the interior of some fantasy castle than a series of tunnels worming their way through a mountain. She half expected to stroll past a window or a guardsman or see some brownies scurrying about performing chores.

“So, what exactly is this place?” Shay asked.

“A sentinel. It was originally constructed as a wizard’s enclave millennia ago. It is built on a particular point where ley lines converge, where magic is at its strongest. Over time it developed into the Sentinel, watching those who pass through the ley lines,” Drake explained. “Centuries ago, I was entrusted to watch over this particular point in the ley lines.”

“Centuries?” Shay asked.

“Yes, centuries,” Drake answered, a sullen tone to his voice. “Here is your room for the night.”

Drake opened a door to a quaint room with a small wooden bed dressed with an olive-green comforter and several large, white pillows and smaller mustard yellow throw pillows. An oak trunk sat at the foot of the bed. There was a night stand by the bed and a wash basin with a pitcher of water off to the side. A thick burnt orange rug adorned the floor. The room smelt of stone and oak. It reminded Shay of her of her great-grandparents’ guest room.

Nostalgia washed over Shay, flooding her with memories of stacking wooden blocks with faded colors and snacking on peanut butter crackers.

Drake stood in the doorway. “Fat, butter or oil?”

Shay was caught off guard. “What?”

“Fat, butter, or oil? What would you like me to fry your breakfast in?” he asked. “I try to accommodate my visitors to the best of my ability.”

Shay opted for the middle of the road choice. “Butter.”

“Butter it is then. Is there anything else I can assist you with?” he asked.

“Could, could you leave the lantern? I think I’ll try to catch up my studies since I’m here,” Shay answered. Hopefully some boring studies would ease her into sleep.

Drake snapped his fingers, and the lantern lit back up.

“Of course,” Drake answered and handed her the lantern. “Good luck on your studies and good night. I will wake you for breakfast and we’ll set out.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Drake,” Shay said. “You have a good night,”

“You have a good night too, Shay,” Drake said and quietly shut the door.

His footfalls echoed to nothing down the hallway. In the tranquility of her room and the light of the lantern, Shay attempted to continue her studies. The night’s escapades and the blanketing warmth overwhelmed her. Soon Shay fell deeply asleep, deep with the bowels of mountain.

“I’m sorry I should have asked what you wanted to drink for breakfast, but that slipped my mind last night,” Drake said, placing a platter of crackling and steaming hashbrowns before Shay.

Drake’s kitchen nook was an oval shaped room with cream painted walls. Stacks of split wood were piled up along one wall, ready to be fed into his iron potbelly oven. Cast iron pots, pans, and oversized cooking utensils were hung on the wall. A sturdy shelving unit bore jars and pots of spices and herbs. There were several woven baskets were filled with a variety of onions, shallots, and heads of garlic. Wreaths and ropes of various types of dried peppers and mushrooms hung along another wall. Another door led into his pantry. Shay sat at a durable rectangle shaped table with two long benches running lengthwise. The table appeared formally be a door, repurposed now as a table.

Her stomach gurgled hungrily. She never did get her sweet and salty snack last night. She shoveled a forkful into her starving maw. Crispy, salty, and creamy in the center, the potatoes were perfectly cooked. And the onions…the onions were fried to the perfect sweetness. All was well seasoned; salt, pepper, and hint of smoked paprika. She nodded at Drake in approval and demolished her plate.

“Black coffee is fine,” Shay admitted, taking a sip. “I definitely will need it. So do you grow your own potatoes?”

“I receive provisions,” Drake answered, pulling out a bench and sitting down. He blew the steam from his of coffee “Nothing particularly grand, potatoes, bacon, and other hardy goods. The wizard council provides me with some goods. The reigning monarchy usually provides most of it, as part of our pact. I still have strong ties within the country.”

“Pact?” Shay inquired; her curiosity piqued.

“When my service was done with the ruling family centuries ago, I moved to the mountain to keep watch over the sentinel after the last custodian passed away,” he answered. “We’ll just say it is part of my retirement plan. What were you studying for?”

“Just mathematics for my engineering major,” Shay admitted, blushing as she sipped her coffee.

It was strong and floral with hints of citrus fruit and earthy spice. Was it magic? Or the lack of GMOs and processing that made the food taste so delicious? The smell alone sent her into nirvana.

Unfortunately, nirvana would have to wait. Her belongings were still at the library, and she was not sure if her housemates had woken up yet or were even aware she had been gone all night. Did they even know she left?

Out of curiosity, Shay pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket and turned it on. The time and dates were still a garbled mess. She grimaced; she did not know if her phone was broken or she caught some magical virus or curse. From his angle Drake could see her phone.

“Don’t worry, it’s not permanent,” Drake said. “It’s the magic in the air. You can’t take photos either. Whatever you take a photo of appear as blurs. Only things that are unaffected by the magic in this world are Nokia Tracfones. It’s after seven if you’re curious.”

Shay turned her phone off, relieved.

“Thank you,” she said, downing the rest of her coffee. “And thank you for helping me.”

“Thank you for being an excellent guest,” he responded, sliding the book towards her. “Don’t forget your book.”

Shay tucked the book under her arm and followed Drake out of the kitchen and into the tunnel system. He handed her a thick gray cloak to protect herself from the cold. Instead of the robes from the previous night, Drake now sported an indigo blue cloak, held in place with a metal brooch of two fish circling each other. He collected a wooden staff from a shelf of staffs. At the tip was a chunk of blue crystal.

He led her through the tunnels. They passed more tapestries, artwork, and more odd relics. They walked by and through several large rooms and by several closed doors.

“We’re walking through the mountain right now. We will be on the other side in a bit,” he explained. “The sound of running water you hear? That’s a waterfall.”

He opened a door. A gust cold air rushed into the tunnels. The roar of the waterfall was deafening. Through the mists, Shay saw a massive room, carved in the shape of a crescent moon behind the waterfall. Drake closed the door.

“How big is this place?” Shay asked. “It is incredible here. So quiet and calm.”

“There’s miles of tunnels and dozens of rooms of many different sizes and purposes. I only use a few. When the wizards fully utilized this place, all the rooms had a purpose,” he answered. “There are several entrances and exits. I don’t use them all. There’s probably more I don’t even know about.”

The tunnel came to a sudden dead end. Here, the air was cold and damp. The smell of frost and wet wood clung to the air.

“Here is one,” Drake said, and put his hand through the wall. “An illusion, simple but effective. Animals still occasionally find their way in though.”

He walked through the wall. Shay followed him. The light on the other side was blinding.

Before her was vast forest of massive trees. Even without their leaves, the trees were awe inspiring. The sky was sapphire blue, the brightest, clearest blue Shay had ever seen. A flock of stark white cranes with red heads and black markings flew by. Along the horizon was the mountain range, sharp pyramids of lavender-gray stones, capped with snow and dotted with forests of pine trees. Deer with odd antlers and spotted coats grazed among the frosted bracken. Elegant towers and lookouts were carved into the sides of some of the mountains. From the distance, she caught the glimpse of the spires of a castle.

Shay stepped forward for a better view.

Lost in awe, Shay nearly stepped off the cliff, but was caught by Drake who quickly jerked her back. Bits of rocks and ice fell down into the chasm. Shay fell backwards, panicking. She scuttled backwards, her heart pounding, threatening to burst from her chest.

“Careful there,” Drake said. He offered her his hand. With ease he pulled her up. “The rune stones are located at the top.”

They followed the pathway up the mountain. After her foolish near-death experience, Shay found the height overwhelming. Clutching her book for emotional support, she stared and the ground and trudged through the snow, following Drake’s footprints.

“Here they are,” Drake said.

The path ended with a perfectly flat piece of stone. Several natural rock pillars rose up from the clearing. Swirls and spirals were carved on the both the stone floor and the pillars. A very faint blue light emitted from the carvings. The air was heavy with electricity, buzzing with energy.

A little blue fairy flittered passed Shay’s ear. She paused, looked at Shay then disappeared with a giggle and burst of white sparkles. More fairies appeared flying around the runes like bees around a hive. A few took notice of Drake and Shay.

“Faes are drawn to the ley lines like cats to a sunbeam,” Drake said warmly. “And just like cats, they can get a vindictive streak a mile long. So, look, don’t touch. A bite is the least bad thing they can do to you.”

Shay had her hand out. She quickly pulled it back to her chest. One of the fairies bared a mouth full of sharp, needlelike teeth. With a manic chuckle, it disappeared into a burst of white sparks. The air stunk of ozone.

“So, this it?”

“Yes,” Drake answered. “Sorry you could not go on a magical adventure.”

“I can live with that,” she answered honestly, folding up the cloak. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“You’re welcome,” Drake answered. “Goodluck on your midterms. You should land close to where you found a book. It’s not exact.”

“I need all the luck I can get. You take care, Drake,” she said and stepped into the runes. He gave her a small smile with some very large, sharp teeth.

The runes lit, turn an electric blue. With shrill screeches, the fairies darted into the forest. Drake’s eyes and the crystal of his staff glowed with same blue light of the runes. He tapped the staff on the ground and with that, Shay disappeared from his world.

Once again, Shay failed to catch herself and landed hard on the wet, cold ground outside of the library.

She had materialized in the center of the frolicking Muses, as if summoned by them. She knocked the wind out of herself, and jarred her elbows. Wet, sore, and trying to comprehend the night’s adventure, Shay laid on the ground for a few extra moments.

It was still very early in the morning. Most of her classmates were still in bed, sleeping off the night’s revelry. So hopefully, no one saw her materialize out of nowhere. God forbid if a camera caught it.

With that thought in mind, Shay pulled her phone form her pocked and turned it on. It was after nine.

Shay dusted herself off, crawled between the legs of one the statues, and limped back the library. She’ll gather her things and limp back home and sleep the rest of the day. Then she’ll try to study again. If she could. Her mind was reeling over the previous night.

Her mind was still trying to comprehend the lackluster fever dream that was her adventure.

Between that and the upcoming midterm, she doubted she’ll be able to sleep.

Chapter Text

The mathematics and natural sciences were not the only shelves out of order. Misplaced books were scattered through the library on every shelf, every floor. Shay and her coworkers had spent the past several hours reorganizing the shelves. The top two conspiracy theories were either a prank or shoddy work ethic, which led to finger pointing. Her coworkers’ loud grievances and accusations disrupted the usual calm, productive environment of the library.

Shay took it upon herself to do lion’s share of the work; partly because she was the one who discovered the mess, and partly she didn’t want to deal with her reasonably perturbed coworkers. Obviously, they came into work expecting a relaxing day of light labor, scanning books, friendly banter and flirting, and imbibing in coffee from the library’s small coffee shop, not to be scuttling around like madmen cleaning shelves, gathering books, and getting nostrils full of dust and other debris.

Shay pushed around a cart with her collection of wayward books with the intention of returning them to their proper placement on the shelves. Peaceful beats pulsing out of her headphones, Shay went to work, removing misplaced books and returning lost books. After spending days sedentary and studying, Shay found the simple act of reshelving therapeutic. Her brain needed the break.

Shay was nearly finished with her task when she heard a familiar dull thump behind her. Her initial thought was that one of her peeved coworkers dropped a stack of books behind her to reshelve. She spun around on her heels to find no one. Her gaze drew down to the ground, to a familiar maroon tome. Shay looked around; everyone was absorbed in their own personal pursuits.

She removed her hoodie and tossed it over the book. Handing it like she was handling an uncooperative stray cat, Shay picked up the book and set it on the bottom of her cart. She returned to her work, but was unable to fully focus. Her train of thought kept returning to the that damn book.

After several hours of work and covered in dust and fingers stained with more dust, Shay tiredly collected her belongings. As she picked up her hoodie, the book tumbled out onto the vinyl flooring of the library breakroom. Carefully, Shay picked up the book by the spine, avoiding the gilded pages.

The book did not have a call number, no labels, not even a title. Looking around and seeing no one, Shay impulsively dumped the book into her backpack. She’ll return it after she does some investigating.

And she’ll do some investigating after she does some resting. And she’ll do some resting after she does some studying. Shay groaned. Her body ached from all the kneeling, climbing, stretching, and squatting. Her forearms were cut up from papercuts from the not hexed books, and her nose and throat were stuffed with dust.

She’ll get a hot shower, then studying, then resting, then investigating. She shambled out of the breakroom and out the back of the library.

A box of magazines sat on recycling bin. She paused, took a step, then stepped back. She flipped through the magazines, setting aside the less frivolous of the magazines, mostly Popular Mechanics and duplicate National Geographics. She jammed these into her backpack. Satisfied with her haul, Shay placed the remaining magazines back in the bin then went to pick up her backpack. She nearly dislocated her shoulder picking up her overstuffed backpack.

With a groan, she swung her backpack over her shoulder and trudged back to her house.

Her house was not the sanctuary she’d hope it would be. The television was blaring. She could hear arguing in the kitchen and the sounds of slamming cupboard doors.

“Hi Shay!” her housemate, Lisa greeted her cheerfully from the couch. She was cuddled up with her boyfriend and bowl of popcorn. “We just rented a new musical! You wanna hang out for a bit? Karra and Jen are thinking about ordering takeout. They’re looking for something to make for dinner first.”

A clamor rose from the kitchen as Jen and Karra banged around pots and pans and argued over ingredients. Karra’s boyfriend tried to navigate the situation and their limited groceries.

Shay mulled about. “I think I’ll get a shower first, and I’ll let you know how I feel.”

“Okay,” Lisa chirped

Shay paused walking up the steps. “What type of takeout?”

“Tacos, I think,” Lisa answered. Shay gripped the banister, today was looking up.

There was another loud crash in the kitchen. Jen asked loudly if they had any pasta or rice. They had neither. No one has gone grocery shopping yet. Karra was arguing with her boyfriend that ketchup could be used in place of tomato sauce. Her boyfriend mentioned that cinnamon is not the same as paprika.

“Let me Know when they order,” Shay said.

An hour later a washed and refreshed Shay, smelling of juicy pear and blue ginger, withdrew to the comfort of her room, with her work and a container of black bean and white queso tacos and a cup of limeade. She was ready to reach study nirvana. She lit up her pink peppercorn candle turned on some lo-fi beats. She flicked on her lava lamp for extra aesthetic. Dressed in her comfiest pajamas, Shay dropped into her bed with her work book and notes.

Several minutes into her studying, the noise from the living room slowly began to bleed into Shay’s sanctuary. Karra argued with her boyfriend the backyard. Outside her window, Shay the heard multiple slams or car doors, followed by loud cheering and giggling coming down the sidewalk. The doorbell rang repeatedly followed by more giggles.

Lisa and Jen happily greeted their friends with equal fervor. Shay breathed in deeply. For a few moments it was quiet save for some chatter. Shay smiled and continued reading. Maybe when she feels better, she’ll go down and join in.

Then the music started. Nothing insane, nothing too disruptive, but still enough that was hard enough for Shay to perfectly graph her work. More loudly cheering erupted from the living room. Furniture screeched as it was dragged across the floor. More thuds and banging followed. Excited talking continued throughout clamor of moving furniture and shuffling feet. For a few minutes the excitement slowed down as the music was muted and the conversations restrained. Something had everyone’s collected attention.

After a few minutes, the party started up again.

Then there was a knock at her bedroom door. Shay breathed in deeply and went to the door. Lisa stood there with a tray of loaded nachos in her hand. She was apologetic.

“Sorry, Shay,” she said. “I know you’re studying, but we are randomly having a nacho bar party. Jen posted about not ordering nachos with her burrito, and it just took off from there. It’s like that stone soup story…but with nachos and drunk people with nothing to do. There’s homemade pico de gallo. I think we’re gonna throw on some found footage horror movies if you wanna join.”

Shay looked at the majestic stack of nachos before her. She could not get mad. There were worse things to be doing than drunkenly making a nacho bar.

“I’ll let you know,” Shay admitted, taking the tray. “I may try to hit the hay. We had to refile the entire library today.”

“I’ll try to keep people quiet,” Lisa honestly answered. “I’m not making any promises.”

“Thank you,” Shay said.

Nachos in hand, Shay stood in her room, surveying it. The incense had burnt to nothing, the candle burnt halfway down. She blew it out and considered her options. It was dark outside with only streetlights and a crescent moon as the light sources. She was not angry, not even irritated. She felt…agitated, unable to sit still. She could not sleep or revel in nachos and shoestring budget horror. She did not want to deal with a large group of people. Perhaps she could go on a walk? Walk to the local bodega, see if a few people wanted to walk with her. A late-night trek always cleared her mind when she could not settle.

Her eyes fell her bookbag and the collection of discarded magazines.

Should she?

It was an impulse she snatched up the book and magazines. Impulse, the drudgery of all day sorting books and working in dusty book shelves, fogged her brain and impulse control. She had nearly forgotten all of the Drake’s conversations when she shoved everything into her backpack.

Now, clearheaded, for the most part, Shay questioned her earlier thoughts and reality. Maybe she will just give it a try, just to see what would happen…

She changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and pulled a sweatshirt over her shirt, and over that she pulled on a hoodie. She slid on a pair of slip-ons. She dumped the magazines into a tote and the nachos into the taco’s container. Into her backpack went her work, a few notebooks, a flashlight, a calculator, and carefully balanced on top, the nachos. On her desk, she plugged in her phone. No need for it where she was going.

Locking the door, she prepared herself. Backpack ready, tote slung over her shoulder, she was ready. Shay took a deep breath and picked up the tome. Closing her eyes, she thought to herself.

If this works, well, she is going on an…adventure. If not, she’s going to the convenient store and see what they have in stock.

She ran her finger over the gilded edge.

With that she was gone.

Once again, Shay failed to catch herself and landed with a thud on the frozen ground. Her tailbone struck the ground and sent a sharp pain up her spine. She yelped and jumped up, sending the precious magazines flying. Once the pain dissipated, Shay collected the magazines. She wiped off the snow clinging to the covers. She drew out her flashlight.

Shining the beam around the forest, Shay searched for the pathway. Finding it, she proceeded down through the black forest. Without a dragon prattling on about his grievances, Shay took in the sights of the shadowy, mythical forest.

An owl silently glided by; its white form contrasting with the blacken branches and ultramarine blue twilight. Will-o-whisps flickered in and out among the bracken and fallen branches while the brighter, periwinkle blue glow of fairies flittered among the tree limbs. Glowing mushrooms in a rainbow of muted colors sprouted from the ground and clung to tree trunks and limbs.

It felt like walking through a serene blacklight poster or a glow-in-the dark puzzle. All Shay needed was the scent of incense and tribal music to complete the scene. Even with the cold, Shay moved at a snail’s pace, admiring the spectacle.

In a clearing a family off white deer foraged, silently shuffling through the snow and frozen leaf litter. Behind the deer, the fairies continued to frolic among the tree trunks. The doe of the family lifted her head and wheezed. The rest of the little family, lifted their heads and also wheezed in alarm. Shay thought she may have startled them.

She stepped back. The deer leapt away, scattering into the woods, their footfalls echoing. The fairies paused, and froze. To Shay, it felt like they were focused, following, on her…like eyeballs.

Then she realized, they were sets of eyes. Canine snarls and growls came from the shadows. A wolf stepped out into the moonlight. The fur of its upper body was a pale blue and stone gray. Its underbelly and legs were a stark white. Most disturbingly of all were the four, glowing pupilless sky-blue eyes on its face.

Its round eyes narrowed as they fixated on Shay. Three more wolves stepped from the shadows. One had three eyes, one had five, and another had two stacked on top of each other. All were snarling and eyeing Shay.

Shay stepped back.

CRAP.
CRAP.
CRAP.

She should have rung the bell. She should have stayed home. She should have left that book in the library.

Shay turned and ran, sprinting down the trail. The wolves gave chase. They did not bark, they did not snarl, they were fully focused on their pursuit. Shay could only hear their pants and footfalls.

Why did she run? Shay damned herself and her stupidity. She should have gone to bed. Or ate some damn nachos and watched horror movies instead of being stuck in one.

“DRAAAKE!” she shouted. “DRAAAKE!”

One of the wolves, the three eyed one, cut her off. Shay swung the tote around, smacking it in the face, cracking its jaw. The wolf limped back into the shadow. Its glowing eyes watched her.

Another one lunged at her, she swung the tote wildly at it, missing it, but startling it enough that it stepped back. One grabbed the back of her backpack and attempted to pull her to the ground. She managed to strike it in the jaw the edge of her flashlight. She felt the metal strike the bone. The wolf yelped as blood dripped from its mouth.

Stumbling, Shay backed into a large tree. In her panic, she was not sure if this was a good idea or not with her back against a wall and literal wolves at the door. She held her tote up as a shield.

The wolves snapped at her. They dodged her kicks and swings of the tote.

“DRAAAKE!” she cried out again.

A wolf grabbed the tote from her hands. Shaking it, it sent the magazines flying into the snow. She pulled her backpack from her back. A wolf lunged at her, and attempted to rip the backpack from her hands.

“DRAAAAKE!”

The door flung open, clattering against the stone of the mountain.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

Drake’s voice was startling.

The path lit up like switching on a light. The wolves yelped as if shot at or burned. Whimpering, they stumbled back into the shadows. When quite a distance away, they turned, their eyes watching Shay.

Panting heavily, Shay fell onto all fours.

“SERIOUSLY?” she heard Drake shout from farther down the pathway.

She could see his hunched form march up the trail head. It took only a few seconds for him to be standing before her, looming over her like a monolith carved from irritation and incredulity. Around his shoulders like a shawl was a plaid blanket, held together at his chest in one hand. His upper lip pulled back to expose sharklike white teeth. His other hand was clutched tightly into a fist.

“SERIOUSLY?” he snarled he gesticulated at her with his free hand. “You came BACK?”

Kneeling on the ground, her belongings strewn about, Shay was panicked and highly regretful. Her heart raced; her lungs could not keep up. Her chest ached. She felt like crying. She was so stupid.

“I’m sorry…I am so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t think the last time actually happened. I thought maybe it was a weird dream. And I found the book and my roommates were having a really loud house party…I decided to try the book out again…I am so sorry.”

“Collect your stuff,” he said straightly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Did they get you?”

He sounded irritated, but he looked done…so done…just so disappointed. Somehow this cut Shay deep, deep into her core. Maybe the wolves should have eaten her. She began to collect the scattered magazines.

“No, they just grabbed my stuff,” Shay answered, looking away, into the darkness. From the shadows, the wolves glared back. One snarled at her.

Holding up a hand and clutching the blanket tighter, Drake took a deep breath. “You needed to ring the bell. It’s not just to alert me. You’re very, very lucky I heard you. The blue light keeps the isewulves at bay. The blue light burns them.”

“I’m sorry,” Shay repeated, clutching the magazines to her chest. “I…I brought you magazines from the library. They’re duplicates, so they’re yours to keep. I thought you’d like them.”

She offered the stack of magazines to Drake. She did not look at him. Drake was taken back. He glanced around the forest and shuffled back, his tail whipping about behind him.

He took them from her and flipped through them.

“There’s more,” Shay admitted, picking up the half-full tote. “They’re all yours.”

“What’s in the backpack?” Drake asked, pressing the magazines against his chest.

“My homework…schoolbooks,” Shay answered, she kept her gaze on the forest. “I was hoping to study.”

“Seriously?” Drake answered, putting a hand on his hip. He restrained a snort and shifted his weight. He looked down at the magazines then at a bedraggled, remorseful Shay. His eyes remained on her. “I honestly thought you were one of the smart ones…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He placed his blanket around her shoulders and patted her on the back. Underneath the blanket he wore a grey, long-sleeved tunic, embroidered about the neckline and sleeves with silvery thread. He wore another pair of black breeches, cut off at the knees.

His voice softened, “Let’s get out of the cold.”

He took the tote and backpack from her and led her back to the mountain. Shay slowly followed behind him. She could not focus on the magical world around her or the trail or the cold. She could not even look at Drake. She could only think about her dumb mistake and Drake’s ire.

His door still open, warmth and amber light pouring into the night. The sight gave Shay no relief or sense of security. Shay plodded in before Drake. He closed the door behind them.

He turned to face her, to try and ease her mind. “Not the dumbest reason someone has returned…it’s not the most illogical or harmful…”

“People come back?” she asked. He handed her the backpack. He gestured for her to follow him.

The hallway he led her down was heavily decorated than the other hallways Drake her lead her down. Paintings of fantastic beasts, battles, and scenery decorated the walls. Interspersed were the portraits and busts of wizards and wizardresses. A long scarlet rug ran down the length of the tunnel.

“If some can, they try to,” he answered. “Usually, they try to be sneaky. Apparently, the prospect of a harem of eager and submissive monster girls is too irresistible to be ignored.”

Shay looked at him blankly, unable to manufacture even the simplest of responses. Not the series of words she thought she would hear him uttering tonight.

“What is the hellscape that is your world? In what fantasy world do elven womenfolk find the company of slovenly, thick human men more appealing than their own men? Since when do mermaids want to cavort with humans as eagerly as humans want to cavort with dolphins?” Drake said with long held-in frustration in his tone.

“You sound like you have been holding this in for a long time,” Shay spoke up.

“It’s been a night,” Drake answered, rubbing his temples. “You’re going to be hearing about a lot of my lamentation with this particular generation of wayward souls.”

“It used to be people acted with fear when they ended up here. They’d bolt, they’d scream; they wanted to get home. Sometimes you’d get the odd soul. The ornithologist fascinated by the fauna, the person born after the age of exploration who wished to see more than the city outside their apartment, the downtrodden who need a break. BUT they always wanted to return home in the end. The worse I had to worry about were the manifest destiny personas and,” he paused then spat out, “the missionaries. I had to close a few portals thanks to those types.”

Drake made a face like a dog or cat spitting out a foul-tasting morsel. His expression returned to its stoic façade.

“Now people want to dance a merry jig in the snow with a satyr. Did people forget what satyrs were like in the legends? Centaurs aren’t noble creatures who protect the forests. Fairies aren’t thrilled with the prospect of a tea party, nor do they adhere to our rules or manners. So many men are hellbent on finding a mermaid…”

“Why?” Shay stuttered.

“It’s more of a ‘how’,” Drake grumbled with his answer, staring into the ceiling. “You want friendly, find a merrow. Apparently, some folks really drawn to the homicidally crazy ones…”

“Some people are like that with human partners,” Shay admitted, hoping to brighten Drake’s sour mood.

“At some point, people just stopped being scared or just fascinated,” Drake answered. “I get the people who think they know this world, who think they can outsmart a sphinx or poison someone with an extra sour or extra spicy piece of candy. Thinking a lighter is a thing of magic like we don’t have flint or matches. Or they think we do not understand basic science. Thinking we don’t know how eclipses work or that we believe our world is flat. They think that they’re some gift that this world. The ‘knowledge’ they collected elevates them to godhood or that they have something us fantasy folks find enticing, but really, it’s just…so damn tiring. I sympathize with the curious, but these egos…”

Shay breathed in and stared ahead.

They came to a set of large, ornate doors. Deer, boar, eagles, and trees were carved deeply into the paneling. The wood was polished to a metallic sheen. Metal stars and the stages of the moon, adorn the “sky” of the door. Their metal faces polished to a mirrorlike sheen.

Drake pushed the doors open, to not a bed, but a library. Two large tables flanked by several chairs were positioned at the front. Shelves upon shelves of books lined up at the back. A shelving unit with diamond shaped shelves held scrolls. Tapestries, maps of lands and of the stars decorated the walls. A few large, marble statues of monsters and men rested among the shelves. Some held lamps or lanterns, illuminating the shelves. Comfortable looking velvet armchairs were placed about for the user’s convivence. A massive globe, its continents carved from semiprecious stones, sat in the corner with a set of articulated skeletons. A red chaise lounge, covered in throw pillows, sat along a wall with a small table. Smaller, squatter book shelves held thick, heavy tomes and pieces of equipment from scales to magnifying glasses, abacuses, lanterns, candles, statues, and bottles.

The scent of leather, old books, and resiny incense was intoxicating. All she needed was a fireplace, a fat cat, and a cup of tea to tie it all together.

“Here you go,” Drake said. “This should suffice. This place isn’t strictly for just people who accidentally send themselves here. Wizards still utilize this place for study and meditation. I’m just the keeper, handling any troublemakers…magical or non-magical. If this place is good enough for wizards, it should be good enough for an engineer. There are a few other repositories on the premise, but I feel like this is the one you could do the least amount of damage in if you were to go about snooping.”

Shay was shocked. At a loss for words, she just looked around the room.

“Th…th...thank you,” she stuttered, shocked.

“Thank you for listening,” Drake responded, tucking his arms behind his back. He hefted up the tote, “and the magazines.”

“I promise, I won’t cause anymore problems,” Shay weakly spoke up. “I’m just going to study.”

Drake turned on his heels and left the library. The echoes of his clawed feet clicked down the hallway.

He called out from the hallway, “Ring if you need anything. There’s a bell somewhere in there.”

Shay picked up her back and started towards a table before remembering something. She quickly unzipped her backpack. She was thankful that in all the chaos, the container of nachos remained shut. Juice from the pickled jalapeños and pico de gallo, however, leaked into her backpack, soaking the seams. She will be smelling that for months. At least it wasn’t the cheese sauce and sour cream.

“WAIT!” she shouted, chasing after Drake. He spun around, nearly slapping her with his tail.

She held up the pack of nachos, “I brought you nachos.”

Drake took the container from her hands. He flicked it open and held up a chip, sniffing it cautiously.

“It has homemade pico de gallo,” she added. Drake popped the chip into his mouth and seemed disappointed.

“I’m sorry, they’re a little soggy. Usually we eat them hot,” she admitted. Perhaps soggy nachos were not a great peace offering. A nine-layer burrito would have been more appropriate.

“Oh,” Drake answered. His eye lit up. Steam and the smell of pickled jalapeños rose from the pack. He popped another chip in his mouth and seemed satisfied. “I have heard of these, never quite had an opportunity to try them. Thank you, Shay.”

One arm behind his back, the other holding the nachos, Drake gave her a small bow and continued on his way.

“You’re welcome, Drake,” she answered and hurried back to her studying, feeling a tad better over the entire ordeal.

Once tonight was over, she won’t do this again. Next time, she’ll manage. Next time, she’ll just walk to the study hall or nearby coffee shop. Or maybe join the party.

Across the table, Shay spread her work, finding the tabletop more accommodating than her bed or desk. With no distractions, Shay took to her studies. With no television or a phone or music or the internet to sidetrack her, Shay could only focus on her work. Her mind could not wander. No song was stuck in her head. No random online searches for a simple question to lead her down an inescapable rabbit hole or a barrage of memes.

She drowned out the distress in a sea of equations and models.

With in an hour, she had formulated several condense, precise notes. Within half an hour, she finished an outline for her report. Nearly two hours was spent solving equations. She found her flow. The scratching of her pen and pencils, the tapping of the calculator echoed through the cavern. She hummed to herself as she completed her assignments.

Finished with her paperwork, she picked up a textbook to read up on her next lesson. Highlighter in hand, she set forth on her studies.

The silence of the library clashed with its coziness. She was accustomed to noise of furnaces or ac units kicking on, the hiss and rumble, the creak of wood, the sound of wind and weather or vehicles outside the windows. The echoes of life, inside and outside, reverberating down the halls. The lighting in the building changing with passing clouds and the setting and rising of the sun.

Here, here underground in the tunnels, buried deep in the stones of the mountain, it was silent. There was no change, just stillness. The vast tunnels amplified the silence to uncomfortable levels.

The more time she spent hunched over her text book at the table, she grew uncomfortable. With nothing to distract her, she grew aware how uncomfortable hunched over a table was. She sat back, stretching her aching back, arms and shoulders. She leaned forward again. Nope, still uncomfortable.

Shay eyed the chaise lounge. She pushed the chair back to the table and went lounge. She kicked her shoes off and laid back on it, holding the book up.

Comfortable now, but the lighting was poor. She could barely discern the fine print of her equations and formulas. She sat up, considering moving back to the table. The statue of a dryad, looming behind the lounge, leaned forward; the lantern in its hand illuminating her seat.

Shay nearly fell out of her seat. She turned to face the statue.

“You’re not alive, are you? Blink twice if you’re cursed,” Shay said to the statue, looking into its vacant, white eyes.

The statue did not respond. Suspiciously looking over her shoulder, Shay watched the statue as she settled back down into her seat. She gave the statue one final look before turning her attention to her assignment.

“Thank you,” she said.

After several minutes Shay heard the familiar clicking of claws on stone echoing down the hall. Under any other circumstances, the sound would have been terror inducing. However, Shay welcomed it. There was knuckle rap on the door.

“Shay? You still here?” Drake asked, slowly creaking the door open. He poked his horned head into the room, looking around.

“I’m still here,” Shay answered from the chaise lounge. “Just reading my book.”

Still lounging, Shay held up her book to the dragon as proof.

Drake looked mildly relieved, but then stupefied, as the once talkative dragonman looked for something to say.

“Just checking in,” Drake said.

“I’m almost done with this lesson, and I’ll pack up and leave,” Shay answered.

Drake turned to leave. He paused, his tail swishing back and forth.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

“What?”

“Do you want a sandwich? It’s late. Sometimes when the night is at its darkest and most unsettling, I want a sandwich,” Drake answered

“Sure,” Shay answered.

The question, the situation was absurd. But her brain was barely functioning. She was not sure if she needed a sandwich. Drake was right though; late-night sandwiches do hit differently.

She hopped down from the lounge. She packed up her schoolwork and threw her backpack over her shoulder. She followed Drake down to his kitchen.

At the table, she fought sleep as Drake fed a few logs into the oven then disappeared into his pantry. The kitchen was lit in a warm fiery orange. In the low lighting, half the kitchen was hidden in the shadows. Despite the darkness overtaking half the kitchen, it was warm and welcoming.

Shay’s brain was trying its damnedest to no succumb to the enveloping warmth.

Drake returned with a load of dark, brown bread, an apple, and a wheel of dark orange cheese. His shadow was cast upon the wall like a giant dragon stepping down onto a village of jugs and jars. He set a cast iron skillet pan on a burner.

“How is the studying going?” he asked, sawing through the bread. With butter from a nearby butter bell, he spread a thick layer on one side of each bread slice

“It went well, thank you,” she answered. “I finished all my assignments. I’m reading up on reservoirs and water evaporation and loss.”

“I am not one to deny those who wish to learn a safe haven in which to pursue their ambitions,” Drake said, thinly slicing the cheese. He layered the crumbly, orange slices onto the unbuttered sides of the bread.

Shay pondered of his words again. She overworked her brain, “Thank you. How are the magazines?”

“Enthralling,” Drake answered. Using his knife, he sliced the apple into razor thin slices. Shay watched in awe as Drake made quick work of the apple. This too went on the sandwich followed by another layer of cheese. “I’ve read an interesting article on the Denisovans. It is amazing what can be learned from a mere fingertip.”

Drake held up his hand at that comment and examined his clawed fingertips.

“I have conflicted feelings about the capabilities of technology,” Drake continued, “but I suppose similar feelings existed in your world towards magic. The amount of witch hunts…”

“Same attitudes towards technology too,” Shay admitted. “Some of the conspiracy theories would work in the Salem courtroom.”

Drake gave a slight chuckle. “The more things change the more they stay the same.”

Drake dropped a fat pat of butter into the pan. It cracked and popped as Drake moved it around the pan with his wooden spatula. Once melted, he carefully placed in each sandwich. As he worked, Drake munched on the leftover slices of apple.

“This is my father…dad’s recipe,” Drake said, reflectively. “Anytime there was a snowstorm or heavy thunderstorm, he would make us sandwiches. He claimed they were the coziest of food during rough times, other than soup. But you can’t carry soup around in your bare hands.”

He flipped a sandwich. It landed with a sizzle. Shay was struck with the image of an older, grizzled dragonman toiling over a stove making grilled cheese for his awaiting dragon children as a storm carried on outside.

“So…,” Shay stumbled over the words, “does your family visit you here?”

Her brain was not working and neither was her mouth as the day and night finally caught up with her in the kitchen.

Drake paused and tapped the spatula on the edge of the cast iron skillet as he mulled over the question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up any sore spots,” Shay said.

“No…my lineage is complicated,” Drake answered, flipping the sandwiches. “My parents were king and queen of their land. I was their first born. They were humans, I obviously am not.”

He paused and looked up at the ceiling. He began, “My mother was a princess…a pawn for most of her life. She was offered as a sacrifice to a dragon as one does when you want to get rid of any possible claims to the throne. She was saved by my dad. He was able to defeat the dragon. The dragon cursed them, claiming their first born would bear the mark of the dragon, forever reminding them of him. Then they returned home, reclaimed the throne. Six months later I was born. My mother figured out the way around the curse was to have a second and a third child. My younger siblings were not born with the curse.”

Drake flipped each sandwich onto a plate. He strode over to the table and set a plate in front of Shay before seating himself. He bit into his sandwich with a satisfying crunch. Perplexed at the combination of apple and cheese, Shay cautiously took a bite. Her apprehension immediately melted away in a gooey mass of cheese and tart apples. The bread was perfectly crispy. It was pleasantly earthy, mildly sweet, and nutty. Oats and chopped walnuts were speckled through the slice of bread, perfectly complimenting the cheese and sweet and tart apple slices. The warm apple juices cut through the melted cheese like a knife, coating the thick strings of salty, rich cheese with a tangy sauce.

It was one of the best sandwiches she had ever had.

Drake watched her eyes widen after her first bite. Shay gave him a thumbs up. She took several more satisfying bites, craving the addictive combinations of flavors. Shay needed to pace herself. She wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

“So, you were the crown prince?” Shay asked.

Drake chuckled and tapped his clawed fingers on the table. “I think that was the intent, but the people were not particularly thrilled at the prospect of having a dragon as their future monarch…regardless of whether or not I was the ruling family’s first-born son. I was groomed for the position. My dad wanted me to be king, my mother was…cautious. She grew up with strife, so she was always worried. I abdicated my position at a young age. I found ambassadorship and diplomacy more of my strong suit. I’m not a leader, I’m a socializer. My brother was more suited for the role, as was my sister. They were both beloved and effective rulers in their kingdoms.”

He paused and scratched at the table. “I…I outlived them all. I served the ruling family for decades. With each generation they became less and less like family, and I become more like an instrument, a sage to use, to call on. I don’t think they realized I was blood. Eventually I just felt like a stranger in the castle I grew up in.”

“I’m sorry, Drake,” Shay answered, stretching her hand out to pat his fingers. “How did you end up here?”

“The wizard of the castle,” Drake began, “was there long before I was born. Since I was so sociable and knowledgeable, he thought I would be a great keeper for the Sentinel. I’m pretty sure that old bastard had been out to get me since the day I was born. I think he was expected the worse from me given my…situation. I suppose he wanted to get me out the way if I ever thought of reclaiming the throne or people using me as a figurehead to try and claim the throne.”

Drake finished his sandwich. “So now I spend my days guiding wayward weirdos out of the realm and back to their homes. Occasionally a wizard pops in looking for something they misplaced here thousands of years ago or a wizard’s apprentice seeking research. And opossums find their way in here…can’t have them running about.”

“You said you could close portals, have you ever thought of closing them if people are bothering you that much?” Shay asked.

Drake tapped his finger on chin. “I could if I wanted to. But they are annoying, not truly dangerous…yet. It has to be someone with a truly irredeemable attitude that would force me to close a portal for good. Sometimes…they’re the only visitors I get.”

He looked off at the wall, scratching at his ear.

“If you’re cursed, can’t it be broken?” Shay asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Isn’t that how fairy tales go?”

“Uh…no…” Drake said, biting his bottom lip and twiddling his thumbs. He looked down at the table, and tapped his fingers on the boards, “Not this one…not this one.”

“Sorry,” Shay softly said.

“It’s okay,” he answered back.

Shay finished her sandwich. “I should probably head out, Drake. Thank you again. I am so sorry to bother you. I wasn’t really thinking tonight.”

Drake breathed in deeply. “I wasn’t doing anything. But next time, please use the bell. The wulves only attack at night, they’re disciples of winter, ice elementals. And be aware of what time you choose to visit…”

“OH…oh…you’re okay with me visiting?” Shay asked, taken back.

“I mean if all you’re doing is studying, I can make exceptions,” Drake answered, resting his chin on his palm, “I never want to keep someone from bettering themselves. The Sentinel, after all, is a library.”

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” Shay said, pulling her backpack on.

Drake got up from his seat. On their way out the door, he picked up the end of the loaf of bread and his staff. The walk to the runes was excruciating, Shay felt ready to keel over and fall asleep on the tunnel floors. With every step, she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper.

The air outside was biting cold. The wind whipped about them as they climbed up the pathway. At the top, Drake hefted the piece of bread.

“You want to get on the good side of the fay? Treat them like a crow…any corvid honestly,” Drake said, holding up the bread.

The fairies flittering through the forests stopped dead in their merriment. Drake hurled the bread into the darkness. They followed.

“They can make gold from lead and hay, transform one animal into a human being. Can’t bake bread,” he said. “Just remember to keep feeding them. You ready?”

“Yes, thank you again, Drake,” Shay said, limping into the circle. Her feet, shoes, and pants were soaked with melted snow. She was ready to go home, ready for bed.

“You take care,” Drake answered. His eyes lit up as did the stones.

Shay’s last thought was, “I need to get more books,” before she disappeared.

Shay landed right by her bed, missing it and her nightstand by inches. She struck her floor with a thud. She quickly jumped up and listened, hoping she did not wake any of her housemates. The house was silent, save for the mechanical rumbling of Jen’s white noise machine and the steady hum of the furnace.

It was nearly two in the morning. Shay stripped and dressed in her comfy pajamas then crawled into bed. Her mind was so tired, so drained, it could not dredge any worries up. Immediately, she fell into a dead sleep. Her mind, body, and soul were content. It was a good day all in all.

The following morning, a fully revived Shay was awake before any of her housemates. Despite the night’s revelry, the house was not in horrible shape. It was manageable.

She’ll leave returning the furniture to their rightful places to her housemates. Feeling generous and a little guilty, Shay collected up the trash, mostly cheese stained paper plates, soggy cold nachos, and plastic cups. She took the trash to the bin. She clipped the remaining back of nacho chips shut and screwed all the lids to the many, many jars of salsa tightly, before setting them in the fridge. The sour cream was left on the counter overnight, so she tossed it into the trash. She swept up what she could with the broom. Then she washed their dishes before sorting through their pantry and fridge, half searching for breakfast food, half taking their groceries into account before making a list.

She pushed aside jars of salsa and bottles of hot sauce and various alcohols. The milk was spoiled. What was lettuce at one point was now a brown mush. One horrific looking jar was overnight oats that were forgotten about over two weeks ago. The yogurt was practically cheese. The boxes of toaster pastries were filled with the wrappers.

Then she remembered the bag of potatoes resting at the top of the basement steps. Most of potatoes sprouted white roots, which she removed. She washed the best looking of the potatoes and peeled them the best she could. She found one wizened onion in the crisper. She blanched the potatoes and sauteed the onion until translucent and soft. She added the potatoes and seasoning then fried until toasted.

With the smell of fried onions and browning potatoes wafting through the house, her housemates began to stir and made their way to the kitchen, shuffling and focused like the undead. She portioned out their breakfasts on the now clean plates and set them on the now clean table.

As she nibbled on her breakfast and her hungover housemates gobbled down theirs, Shay began a grocery list.

Milk
Potatoes
Brown bread
Cheddar cheese
Apples
Books*

An asterisk for top priority.

Chapter Text

“So…do you have a sister?”

“You’re not privy to that information,” Drake grumbly answered, staring ahead, marching down the snowy trail.

His morning respite was cut short by these five fools.

Trailing not far behind him were a group of four young men. Two talked among themselves, watching Drake intently like deer watching a passing panther. With both of his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the third man walked as if he pissed himself, which he did. His face burning red and biting his bottom lip, he did not look at anyone but kept his gaze on the edge of the trail. The bespectacled fourth man lagged behind, holding a sketchbook and sketching as he walked. A fifth man, a short, chubby fellow with a mop of brown hair and large glasses, doggedly followed Drake. He continually bumped into Drake’s elbow as he attempted to keep in step with the dragonman.

“Dude…I don’t think we can trust this guy,” one of the men whispered to another. “He’s a chromatic dragon…”

Drake’s ears flicked. He paused to rub his temples. He did not drink enough coffee this morning. He turned on his heels to face the four lollygaggers behind him.

“What the bloody hell makes you think I am going to eat you? The color of my scales? Don’t be racist,” Drake bluntly stated.

The pair shrunk back. Drake snarled to himself, his hot breath coming out like smoke in the chilly, morning air.

An hour earlier, Drake was nestled in his kitchen nook, happily brooding over a perfectly brewed mug of coffee and plate of fried apples. Both steaming and ready to be devoured. It had snowed most of the night, leaving an ankle deep (for him) layer of powdery white snow. He woke up and poked his head outside of his front door to appreciate the sight of a virginal white snowfall, sparkling like diamonds in the bright, early morning sunlight. Breathing in deeply, he relished the crisp, biting smell of frost and freeze. He then pulled his head back and went to appreciating the warm confines of his den.

He planned on reading the Popular Mechanics over a few more cups of black coffee. When the sun was at its zenith, he figured, if he felt up to it, he’d do a patrol around the mountain. There was a half a loaf of very stale bread he had to attend to, having forgotten to return it to the pantry. His afternoon plans set, he remained at the table deciding on the fate of the stale bread; bread pudding or rusks.

Then he was alerted to visitors. The white lights that adorned the tunnels and the caverns burnt blue. He groaned loudly. He left his hot food at his table and trudged to his doorway. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and slogged up the trail.

It was hard to argue who was more surprised; the quintet of young human men, chattering among themselves in fear, confusion, and delight, or the dragon who strode around the turn fully expecting to see someone else.

Before Drake could introduce himself, two of them sprinted into the woods, one fell back and pissed himself (he claimed he spilled his energy drink), and one screamed like a little girl. Only the short one stood tall, ready to shield his band.

Drake was immediately threatened with a fireball from their leader. The leader claimed to be a fifth level wizard to add weight to his threat. In complete confusion, Drake could only stare at the little man.

The leader shook his hands at Drake. He made gasping noises as he wiggled his fingers in the air. No longer confused, but annoyed, Drake groaned.

“Okay, then shoot me all-mighty wizard,” Drake bluntly responded.

He smelt no magic emanating from the young man, just the odors of corn chips and fruity gummy snacks. The “wizard’s” companions gasped the moment Drake spoke. The “wizard” was unthreatened.

He dug through his pockets before retrieving a wand from a pouch around his waist. He tried repeatedly to aim his wand at Drake and shouted “FIREBALL” at the unimpressed dragonman. After a few shouts, he started to break down, staring at his wand.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Drake answered. “We’re going to freeze to death in your attempt to set me ablaze.”

The man fell to his knees in disbelief and softly muttered to himself. “There’s magic. My spell worked; I opened the portal…”

“You deal with that, I’ll deal with your friends,” Drake grumbled.

He left Pantswetter and Girlyshrieker to comfort Wizardboy while he searched for the two runners. The layer of fresh snow hastened his search. Their routes were easy to distinguish from the trails of harts, hares, and isewulves.

He found one fool hanging by his ankle from a tree. He had managed to climb a tree, and in either his attempt to jump down or ascend higher and then falling, caught his ankle between a forked branch. His fingers were just brushing the ground and his face was red when Drake stumbled upon him. This made Drake’s job easier.

He caught the fool, and upon having saved the fool, showed the fool that Drake was no threat to the fool or his fool friends…so Drake hoped.

Hangman and Drake followed the stumbling footprints of the final fool through the brush and branches finally coming across him in a stream. He had attempted to cross a frozen stream and fell through the ice. Fortunately for him, the stream was shallow. The layer of muck and mire hidden underneath the water and ice was thick and sticky, holding the fool in place until Drake’s arrival.

At the sight of Drake, the stuck man began to flail and attempt to free himself from his frozen, mucky shackles. He managed to free himself, minus his shoes. In his attempt to flee, he slid across the ice, before falling through again, face first this time.

Grabbing the fool by his ankles, Drake pulled him from the ice waters and muck and across the ice and up the bank. A few spells dried and warmed him. Another round of spells freed and cleaned Icypants’s shoes from the frosty muck and mire.

Subdued, they followed Drake back to the trail and their shaken companions. With a wave of his hand, they anxiously queued up and followed their scaly guide down the trail.

“So, how did you get here?” Drake asked straightly, staring ahead.

Wizardboy fixed his glasses. “We were deep in a dungeon…”

“An actual dungeon?” Drake asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It was part of our campaign,” Wizardboy continued, “It was very intense, because Skyler doesn’t play fair and makes everything impossible to beat. He has killed so many of my characters. We were locked in a dungeon with no entrances and no exits. Earlier in the campaign I had collected a rusty key and kept it in my inventory. We had no escape; the walls and ceiling were closing in on us. As the group’s wizard, I decided to enchant the key and use it to open a magical door. Skyler allowed it. I did a roll and rolled a natural twenty. Then a door opened up and we ended up here, without Skyler. We’re going on an amazing adventure without him! SCREW HIM!”

Drake shook his head. “Unfortunately, that is not happening. I’ll have you home by lunch time. When this is done and over, you’ll be left with an interesting story.”

“BUT…BUT we were summoned,” Wizardboy continued. “The magic chose us.”

“I thought the Tardis just opened up…” someone mumbled behind them.

“Magic is an element like fire, air, or water, it has no mind, no alignment. It just does what it does unless otherwise ordered,” Drake explained. “It has rules that it follows; not like those of our physical world, but it has rules. Water takes the path of least resistance; you can start a fire many different ways, intentionally and accidentally. Magic is an element. You found a relic. By mere happenstance, you created the conditions in which to activate it.”

Perturbed, Wizardboy stopped and stared, his bottom lip trembling. His companions walked by him.

He raced past his band. “I think you’re lying. I think you’re hiding something to keep us away.”

“I am hiding things from you,” Drake said, stopping. He leaned down and went snout tip to nose tip with the young man. His hot breath fogged up the lenses of Wizardboy’s glasses. “There are things in this world that do not need the contamination from your world and vice versa. If you’ve paid attention to science or history or just the news, you’ll know this. If you think smallpox or walking catfish are bad, imagine hexes that turn your bones and teeth into fingernails or screaming cockroaches than run faster than the speed of light and smell like concentrated cat piss and leave yellow stains everywhere. They like to crawl into any warm, wet orifice they come across. And for some of those things, there is no spell that can save you.”

Drake pulled back. Wizardboy stood things, still red faced and gasping. He snorted as he breathed in deeply, on the verge of tears. Downtrodden and head down, he took his place at the end of the line.

Some dragons took great pleasure in chaos and destruction, crushing buildings and homes, setting fires to crops and forests, laying waste to everything as they pass on through. Despite his impassiveness, Drake hated crushing hopes and dreams, even of those of fools. They’re hungry, willing for adventure.

But would they still retain that willingness, that fearlessness when they face something that exists outside their narrowminded view of their own personal ideal adventure? Would they pick of the mantle of responsibility and herodom or just run off to find something that matches their idyllic dream?

Reality often proved to a greater monster that few were willing to face, and fewer to overcome, even in a world of magic.

He herded them into the Sentinel. Two were still very fearful and struggled to step into the tunnel, one was downtrodden, one had his nose buried in his notebook. Drake attempted to catch a glance of the lad’s notebook but was thwarted as Wizardboy shoved ahead, pouting.

One carried a backpack. Another, the notebook wielder, had a satchel slung across his body. Wizardboy wore a belt, a single, brightly colored, zipper pouch at its center, around his round waist. Drake wondered if any carried any books.

He wondered if they’d be willing to part with them, given their less than pleasant introduction. He wondered how to broach that question. Then wondered, if they did possess books, if the subject matter of the books would be worth his time.

He had easily transitioned to reading text from right to left. If the reading material provided was constructed in such a manner, it was of little concern to Drake.

The many libraries built inside of the mountain possessed many documents and books written in such a manner. Many societies, current and long gone, had adopted a similar writing system when producing their manuscripts and tomes. These works often included artistic renditions of varying grotesques frolicking among the words, lurking in the margins. Drake preferred these odd creatures, these colorful monstrosities, equipped with humanish features and a mishmash of animal limbs and traits over the black and white panels line art of unnaturally busty women posturing in dubious poses and in questionable angles, dressed in scant clothing, all held together by an even more scant plot.

Drake dropped his musings and frustrations and took up his mantle as keeper and host.

“This is the Sentinel, a layover between the intersections of the ley lines. It has served generations of wizards and travelers,” Drake recited, tucking his arms behind his back. “I’m the custodian…”

“So, this is just a glorified truck stop?” Wizardboy said, irritated. “You work in a gas station.”

“It’s more of a ranger’s station,” Drake responded without missing a beat. “Come along, I’ll make you something to eat to before sending you on your way. I’m sure you will find the Sentinel more welcoming than the outside world…or a truck stop.”

Drake led them through the tunnel systems. None seemed interested in either the artwork or the relics or the tunnel system itself. The frightened pair moved slowly and shrunk away from everything. One seemed to care more about his pants. One remained in his notebook. The last just huffed and pouted, not taking a lick of interest in this magical fantasy land he so dreamed about. Hushed whispers and the scratching of pencil on paper echoed with their footfalls through the vast tunnel system.

Other than Wizardboy and Pantswetter, Drake had completely forgotten the earlier nicknames he had mentally bestowed upon his visitors. They were now Notebook and Scaredy Cat One and Scaredy Cat Two.

“Dude, we’re gonna get eaten,” Scaredy Cat One whispered. “We’re in the lair of the beast, the literal belly of the beast. We’re goners.”

“Dude, did you not hear him? He’s not gonna eat us, he’s the damn janitor,” Wizardboy dismissed harshly. “We’re in fantasy world, and the first thing we run into is a wizard’s freaking pet furry.”

“You don’t know what he’s into…” one whispered. “Also, I think the term is ‘scalie’.”

Drake shook his head.

He opened the door to his kitchen and beckoned them to his breakfast nook. They seated themselves at the large table. Wizardboy groused and huffed, crossing his arms before burying his face in his arms. Notebook sat in the very back, completely uninterested in his surroundings or his companions and their varying dispositions. The fearful pair sat on the outside of the table. With his legs crossed, Pantswetter looked embarrassed. One scaredy cat bounced his knee; the other tapped his nails on the table.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Drake explained. “If you have any questions, I’m more than willing to answer them to the best of my abilities. Would you like coffee or tea?”

None of them answered him. Two just stared at him, eye wide, lips trembling.

“Water? Milk? Anything?” Drake asked. “I can make posca or switchel. I have some wonderful berry-based vinegars gifted to me.”

The two scaredy cats intensified their fidgeting. With their companions completely apathetic in the massive dragonman, they were ones left to respond to Drake’s questions. Despite Drake’s best effort to placate them, they grew more and more fretful.

Wizardboy halfheartedly and quietly rebuked both of them. Drake drew his breadknife from its block. One of the scaredy cats gasped. Drake began to cube the loaf of stale bread.

“Do any of you having any allergies?” Drake asked, holding the knife. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“I think Paul’s allergic to soy,” one of the scared cats bravely spoke up.

“I don’t have any soy,” Drake said. “Tree nut allergies? Yes? No?”

He gestured with the knife, pointing at each individual guest. Wizardboy ignored him. Notebook glanced up shook his head then returned to his notebook. The scaredy cats nervously shook their heads.

“Okay, good,” Drake said, setting the knife down. He walked to his pantry, “So do you like raisins?”

“Eww, no,” Wizardboy perked up.

“Currants?” Drake asked.

“What’s a currant?”

“It’s like a raisin, but smaller,” Drake dryly explained.

“Ewww,” Wizardboy sneered. “Why would you think we’d like currants?”

“I was just being polite,” Drake explained. “Dried apricots?”

“I don’t want to crap myself,” a scaredy cat spoke up. Pantswetter winced.

“Dates?”

They shook their heads.

“Figs? Would you like dried figs?”

“Figs? Eww, what is this Victorian England?” Wizardboy tried to joke. “Do you have craisins?”

“What’s a craisin?” Drake asked wearily.

“It’s like a raisin, but way better,” Wizardboy explained.

“No…I don’t have those,” Drake answered with a pause. “What about sloeberries? Will you eat sloeberries?”

“I’m not eating any magical Willy Wonka fruit,” someone spat out.

Exasperated, Drake looked about his kitchen. He looked at his plate of apples, abandoned and cold. “Apples. Do any of you have anything against apples?”

His guests, minus Notebook, looked at each other. They looked at each other, as if to formulate a response.

Before they could produce a retort, Drake responded, “I’ll take it you’re okay with apples then.”

He ducked into his pantry and navigated around the wooden shelves of his pantry. Engraved in the wooden shelves or written in ink, were various runes and spells. Spaced around his pantry were other runes. Some were protection spells, protecting his larder. Others were repellent spells, keeping his food free of vermin and pestilence. Other spells were stasis based, keeping his food fresh, free from spoilage and staleness. He had spices and cheese, centuries old that were as fresh as the day they were delivered to him.

He wandered among the shelves loaded with clear, glass jars of flours, teas, coffee, grains, dried legumes, nuts, dried fruit, and seeds. Varied sacks of root vegetables set against the walls. Baskets of pears, plums, and apples filled other shelves. From a shelf, Drake collected six eggs, a pitcher of milk, and butter.

He returned to a quiet and mostly empty kitchen. Only Notebook remained seated at the table. There were three empty spots and a wet spot on the benches.

“Seriously?” Drake said, more to himself than his single companion. He sighed with a shrug then turned to Notebook, “You’re not going to run?”

Notebook shook his head. For a few moments, Drake stood in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, contemplating his next move. Notebook said nothing. His friends would probably spend the next several minutes wandering about the bowels of the mountain. They’d eventually get lost in the vast tunnel system. That should hopefully tire them out and make it easier to corral them. The magical failsafes installed should limit the amount of mischief they could get into.

Should.

Drake sighed.

He’ll go collect them in a bit. First off, he’ll make a hot meal to return to.

From high on a shelf, Drake retrieved a large wooden bowl and a smaller bowl. He tossed the cubes of stale bread into the large wood bowl. Out of habit, he flipped the stale cubes about, spinning them through the air and back into the bowl. Satisfied, he sat the bowl onto his small counter.

It was not the first time, probably would not be the last time, someone took the opportunity to steal away while Drake’s back was turned. He’ll gather them up later. It would, at least, will give the bread pudding time to bake.

Into the small bowl, Drake cracked his eggs, mixed in milk, a little sugar, cinnamon, and some nutmeg and a bit of cardamum. He whisked them together then poured the mixture over the bread. He stirred about the cubes then tapped the wooden spoon the edge of the bowl. As the bread soaked, he returned to his pantry. Both fists clutched tightly, he came back to his bowl and tossed a handful each of raisins and currants into the mix. He cut some of his apples into bite sized pieces before adding the apples and their syrupy juices into the now softened bread. Carefully, he mixed about the bread, apples, currants, and raisins. Setting the mixture aside, he buttered a pan with a copious amount of butter.

Not out of hospitality, of course.

The less time Drake spent scraping and soaking burnt bits from a pan, was time that could be spent reading. Among the Popular Mechanics and National Geographics was a bass fishing magazine that tickled his fancy more than any dinner party or DNA revelation could.

Drake spooned his bread pudding into the pan, and patted it down. Carefully, he placed the pan in the center of the oven. From the same shelf he retrieved the bowls, Drake brought down a large hourglass and flipped it.

He collected his dishes and utensils and placed them in his sink. He returned the milk to the pantry, threw the eggshells in his compost barrel. He filled a kettle with water and placed it on a burner. He washed off and dried his hands. Huffing with his hands on his hips, Drake planned his next round of attack.

Notebook remained uninvolved.

Drake shoveled a few forkfuls of the remaining fried apples into his mouth then sipped his cold coffee. He ran his hand over his coffee. Steam rose from the mug, with it the welcoming scent of roasted coffee beans. Drake blew away the steam and took a sip, now satisfied.

“Can I trust you to watch this?” he asked, pointing at the oven and hourglass. He set a pair of oversized oven mitts on the countertop.

Notebook looked up and nodded, his bespectacled face neutral and unreadable. Drake accepted his answer. He gulped down the rest of his coffee then strode out of the kitchen and into the tunnels.

He listened for the echoes of either footsteps, talking, or strife. The hallways remained silent.

He pressed his hand against the wall. Closing his eyes, he focused. Through his fingertips, he felt the magic flowing through the mountain, the magic that fed, that powered the Sentinel. The magic flowed up his fingertips, up through the tendons, veins of his hand, up to his elbow, his shoulder, up his neck, and into his mind. He felt warmth, the buzz of magic pulsing through his blood as he redirected the flow.

The tunnels were bathed in darkness as the many, many torches that decorated the walls were gradually snuffed out with audible poofs. Drake opened his eyes, glowing and primal. Before him the floor glowed blue with scrambling footprints of his four absconded guests.

“Good,” Drake said to himself, following the glowing shoeprints down the tunnel system.

Eyes watching the ground, Drake followed their steps like a lion stalking its prey. His pace increased as he felt himself closing in on them. Then the tunnels split off into separate directions. So did the footprints, into four different directions.

“Of course,” Drake grumbled to himself, his concentration vanishing.

Handling them one on one should be easier than handling all four together. Convincing the two scaredy cats they were safe with him would be harder than convincing them to leave. Pantswetter could be just searching for a latrine. Wizardboy he would save for last. Let him have that magical adventure, no matter how brief.

Shouting and clanging echoed down from the nearest dark tunnel, drawing Drake’s attention. Drake quietly slunk down the darkened tunnel. Sneaking up on his quarry would be a mistake. The fool was already terrified, no need to traumatize him anymore that need be.

No need to feed into the idiot’s belief that Drake was predatory animal, stalking him for sustenance.

He pressed his palm against the wall. His draconic nature allocated him a few perks when it came to magic. Humanity, at least those blessed with the affinity, would spend years or decades, even centuries, to manipulate magic with the ease Drake possessed since birth. Much like how humans needed a boat to cross water or tools to create fire, most humans needed assistance when conducting the magical arts. Like members of the fae, magic flowed through Drake’s body allowing him relative ease when it came to handling it…for the simplest of tasks at least.

No need for spells, wands, patrons, or potent components when magic runs through your veins.

Drake never possessed the desire for loftier, magical as his mostly human company. He preferred using his magical affluence to ease the daily rigors of life than exploring other realms and traversing the ley lines. He supposed, being a creature of magic, magic was a mundane element, like air and soil, no more important than the specks of dusts floating in the air. It was a mundane element to be used for mundane tasks.

Rather than sneak on his guest by turning invisible or shifting through the cavernous walls, Drake lit the torches, keeping the light low.

The young man startled as the flames of the torches rose up. He stumbled about as the torches lit around him.

Keeping his distance and his hands up, Drake cautiously approached the young man.

“Hey,” he said, “let’s go back to the kitchen. I won’t…”

Drake was unable to finish his sentence. The man cut him off with a shout, “HE FOUND ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!”

He bolted down the tunnelway, his footsteps loudly echoing as he gained distance from Drake.

Drake sighed and leisurely padded behind him.

Coming across a large porcelain jar, the lad attempted to pick it up and toss it at Drake, or to send it to the floor, hoping that the broken shards would ward off Drake. Instead, he found his hands stuck to the lip of the jar. Long ago a spell had been placed on the fine piece of porcelain artwork to avoid such an incident, or theft. All relics and artifacts had the same spell cast upon them. Thieves, and more importantly klutzes, abounded, calling for a need for such spells.

A stolen piece of artwork was heartbreaking, but an elegant, masterfully made piece broken in a foolish act was soulfully devastating.

He attempted to pull his hands from the brim. Finding his hands stuck, he became frantic. He placed his foot against the vase attempting to leverage himself and pull his hands free. Instead of freeing himself, his foot became stuck. Terrified and hopping on his one foot, he began to shout and screech, begging Drake for his mercy or shouting for backup.

“You’re not in any danger,” Drake explained in his softest tone, “It’s just a spell to keep interlopers from breaking or stealing the relics.”

He placed a clawed finger on the vase, freeing the young man from his bonds and sending him crashing to the floor with a bone-rattling thud. Unfazed and adrenaline surging through his veins, the young man took his feet and sprinted down the hallway.

Instead of pursuing his guest turned quarry, Drake sighed and kneeled down onto the ground and placed his hand on the stoney ground. Farther down, a fold rose up in a rug, tripping the lad and sending him to the ground.

The wind knocked out of his lungs, the man could only gasp for breath. He rolled about a few times then attempted to bring himself to his knees. Before he could, the rug rose up and wrapped around the man, pinning his arms to his side and squeezing his legs together. Now a human sausage-roll, the man could only wriggle on the floor like a stuck grub.

Drake strode up and squatted down by the young man. Drake gazed upon the man with an expression of neither anger or rage or hunger, but a look of disenchantment. He pressed a clawed finger against the man’s lips.

“Are you able to breathe?” Drake asked him. “Shake your head yes or no.”

His was response was a grunt followed by thrashing his head about. Drake cushioned his head in his large hand, keeping him from striking it against the stoney ground.

“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself more than you already have,” Drake calmly told him.

Drake picked up his bundle and hefted his load over his shoulder. Slowly, he plodded down the hallway, listening to his charge’s breathing and feeling his heart beating into his shoulder. He kept an ear out for any of the young man’s wayward companions.

Drake carried his load into the warm, fully lit kitchen, a far cry from the dark and confined tunnels. Notebook was still in his notebook. The aroma of bread pudding flooded every corner of the kitchen with the scents of toast, caramelizing sugar, and warm spices.

Drake’s cargo was unappreciative and wiggled like a weak worm on Drake’s shoulder. Drake set the man, still wrapped in the rug, on the bench. Notebook looked up, looked at his companion, then went back to his notebook.

“Stay,” Drake said pressing his finger against the young man’s forehead.

He held it there for a moment, the man staring at Drake’s clawed finger. Drake pulled his finger away, and the rug fell away. Twisting, the man attempted to pull himself from the table. He attempted to talk, but was unable to. With terror in his eyes, he looked at Drake.

Nonplussed, Drake rolled up the rug and set it by the door. He dug through his cabinets and removed a tea strainer, formed in the shape of a fish. From another a glass jar, Drake spooned tea into the little metal fish. He took a moment to breath in deeply from the jar, imbibing in its earthily sweet, floral smell. He placed the fish into a mug followed by a stream of hot water from his kettle. As the tea steeped, Drake checked his bread pudding. The custard had not set.

After adding a spoonful of floral honey to the mug, Drake brought the tea to his speechless guest and set the steaming mug in front of him.

“It’s chamomile and lavender,” Drake said. “Drink it, you need it. Would you like a mug?”

Notebook shook his head, then responded by removing a red can of soda from his backpack then setting it on the table with a clop. He tapped the lid a few times with his fingertips, then with a metallic click, he opened his soda and took a sip. The soda bubbled and hissed as he set the can on the table with another clop. Notebook returned to his scribbling.

Drake then the tucked the rug under his arm and went back out in the hallway. He returned the rug to its proper place in the hallway and returned to the spot where the footsteps divided.

Far, far down one of the still dark tunnels a faint clamoring echoed.

The tunnels constructed in this area, were older and connected to rooms rarely used by Drake or by any of his wizardly visitors. Drake could not remember the last he had visited this section. The rooms have sat mostly ignored. If it wasn’t for the myriads of magic spells placed upon the objects and rooms, the collections would have collected a thick layer of dust and grime.

With a sigh, Drake followed the clamor down a narrow tunnel to one of the libraries. It was an ancient repository whose wares were mostly rolls of scrolls and outdated manuscripts. It was one of the smaller libraries, and one of the least used, having fallen out of favor centuries ago, as preferences switched to tomes. Much of the material contained within the scrolls had grown obsolete over the passing centuries.

Still, there were plenty things located in there that could cause trouble.

The room was pitch black. In the darkness, Drake could hear the muffled gasps and thumps of a struggling body.

Pressing his hand against the wall, Drake relit the torches, washing out the darkness in a blast of bright, white light. The young man let out a high-pitched gasp.

Lifted off the ground, Pantswetter attempted to free himself from the stony grasp of a granite golem, which had been shaped into a form a cyclops. One hand still gripping its torch, the golem restrained the young man from escaping with both arms.

In the darkness and with the aid of silence spells, the golem was able to sneak upon the trespasser while his back was turned. The golem had reached up behind the young man, brought its arms up under the young man’s arms then locked its arms under his armpits. The golem then lifted the young man up off the floor while waiting for Drake.

With the sudden illumination, the young man shouted at the sight of his one-eyed captor. He attempted to wriggle free only for his calves to rub against the golem’s groin. Horror crossed the young man’s face as the back of his legs felt something…hard. The cyclops’s only adornment was a meticulously carved laurel wreath about its head.
Despite its sexless nature, the golem had been carved to be anatomically correct, which was the style during its creation. For the past several centuries and into current times, wizards opted for more…streamlined…golems. Still, the golem was a fine example of craftmanship, both in its magical nature and the chiseling that created its physical form.

Its captive could not appreciate the fine workmanship. He flailed around in its marble grip, attempting to both free himself and avoid touching the cyclops’s meticulously carved crotch.

“You can drop him,” Drake said to the golem. “Thank you.”

Its captive dropped like a sack of potatoes. Gasping and shuddering, his bottom still on the ground, he propelled himself across the floor with his heels. The golem stepped back onto its foundation and returned to its pose; its job complete. The young man’s eyes fixated on the golem; then he backed into Drake’s legs.

Turning around, he caught sight of Drake, screamed then attempted to crawl away on all fours. Drake followed behind him, his clawed feet heavily thumping on the ground.

“I’d advise stopping,” Drake spoke up. “You look ridiculous. It’s just a penis. And I’m no more dangerous than that penis you were screaming about.”

Drake offered a clawed hand to the young man. The man turned over, still sitting on the ground, and looked away.

“Look, please don’t make me wrap you up in a rug like your friend,” Drake said tiredly, squatting down at the man’s eye level. “I don’t know what ideas your books put in your head about me, but that’s part of their world, not mine. Don’t you want to leave?”

The man looked around, and struggled to say something. “I…I…I don’ t know.”

“Come one, let’s gets some tea,” Drake said, pulling him up. He patted him on his back, perhaps a bit too roughly. “You need to sit down and think for a bit. It’s a lot to take in. Have some tea in the heart of a mountain in the kitchen of a dragon.”

He looked at the wall, accepted his fate, and stood up. “Okay.”

The young man meekly trailed behind Drake as he led him back to the kitchen.

“So…you’re not going to kill us or sacrifice us? Nothing nefarious?” he asked the dragonman. “You’re just going to make us go home? I can’t…I can’t believe that.”

“Yes,” Drake answered. “Anticlimactic, some people find that harder to believe than the fact they’re talking to a dragon.”

“I…I always wondered if there were places like this, since I was a kid. I wonder…I wondered how I’d do if I ever got to go there. What would I do?” the young man said softly, looking up at the tunnels, at the art with awe for the first time. “And now I’m here…and the first thing I did was piss myself.”

“Don’t let that get to you. It’s not the first time someone has done that, or the worse thing someone had done,” Drake answered, placing a hand of his shoulder. “There have been visitors I had to use a ten-foot pole to poke awake…downwind.”

A toasty heat ran from Drake’s palm down the man’s shoulder and into his clothes and shoes, drying him. Now in warm, dry clothes and in nonjudgemental company, the young man’s demeanor changed.

“I suppose you want me to return to the kitchen,” he said.

“If you promise you won’t run away, you can accompany me in collecting your other two friends,” Drake said. “I feel that in the time it takes for me to escort you back to the kitchen, your companions will find themselves in trouble. All of you managed to cover more ground than I expected.”

His now dry charge followed Drake out of the library and down the tunnelway where the footprints separated. Brows furrowed and kneeling down; Drake examined the tracks.

“Is…are there a lot of dangerous things out there?” the young man anxiously asked Drake during his investigation.

Drake did not immediately reply to the young man’s concerns. The creator of one set of tracks had traveled halfway down the one tunnel before changing their mind. They turned around and sprinted back. They then proceeded to run down the other tunnel, seemingly following behind the other escapee. With a huff, Drake stood up.

“Yes, outside there are,” Drake answered matter-of-factly and started down the other tunnel. “It is much safer in the Sentinel, but there’s plenty of things in here and out there that could spark danger for the uninitiated…”

Drake paused in both his speech and step. “Or those who think they understand this world. I also have a bread pudding in the oven I’d rather not get burnt.”

“It’s Gabe,” the young man blurted out. “I’m sorry I did not get to tell you my name earlier.”

“Drake,” Drake answered.

“Drake,” Gabe said, musing. “Drake…”

“Many dragons are often bequeathed names by the humans living in their vicinities. The humans living in my vicinity happened to be my parents,” Drake answered.

“Oh…” Gabe said, thinking for a moment. “So, are you adopted?”

Drake paused, “No.”

“So, both of your parents are humans? I would think one of them was a dragon…or had dragon heritage. I mean…you look kinda like a dragonborn than an actual dragon-dragon.”

With a deep moan rumbling in his chest, Drake grimaced and snorted loudly. Gabe shrunk away.

“It’s not polite to make assumptions about people, especially out here,” Drake said dryly, his eyes glowing, nostrils flaring, and hackles raised. Gabe’s nose picked up the smell of ash and cinder.

“I’m sorry, I mean…you walk on two legs. I think wyverns are the two-legged kind out there…maybe lindworms, but they have two arms instead of legs. I mean, I really don’t know. I haven’t read those Dragonology books since second grade. If anyone knows it would be Paul…I’m sorry I’m going to stop…”

“Good,” Drake said. “Let’s go find your friends.”

Anxiously, he followed behind Drake, trying to dodge Drake’s slowly lashing tail in the muted light and keep an eye on his guide. His heart raced in his chest, not out of fear, but embarrassment. He peed his pants, he ran away like a coward, freaked out over a penis, and then proceeded to offend Drake on what was obviously a very sore subject. Then stupidly, he continued talking after the fact.

In In his attempt to keep both his eye on Drake and Drake’s tail, Gabe completely missed the foundation of a large statue off in his peripheral.

Fortunately thanks to the spell, the delicate statue remained undamaged and unmoved. Gabe bounced off the statue and was sent to the floor. Immediately, Drake spun around. Gabe ducked, narrowly avoiding being struck by Drake’s tail.

“I apologize,” Drake said, pulling Gabe up, “I am too focused on finding your wayward companions, that I have forgotten about your own safety. Unfortunately, I need the darkness to track their steps, but this should aid you.”

Moving his hands about as if he was packing a snowball, Drake began to produce a ball of white light between his palms.

“Here, this should help you,” Drake said, handing the glowing ball, the size of a tennis ball to Gabe.

Gabe “held” the ball in the palm of his hands. It floated a few centimeters above his palms, not touching, not burning. He bounced the ball back and forth between his hands like a slinky.

“Cool,” Gabe said, mesmerized.

Drake watched, in mild amusement, as Gabe played around with his gift. He dribbled the ball of light on the ground before finally placing the ball above his head. He left it there, floating and illuminated him in a halo of light.

“Cool, now I’m a SIM,” he joked. Drake looked at him. “It’s a game.”

“I figured it was something related to that category,” Drake said.

“So, you know about video games?” Gabe asked.

“I know of them,” Drake answered. “You’re not the only people who have ended here. You’re certainly not the last. I’ve gleamed more than a few bits of information from previous guests. Many folks are quite excited to…info dump…on me with the achievements of their world.”

“Do a lot of people end up here?” Gabe asked, trailing behind him.

“More than enough that we have had to install a system to return folks back home,” Drake answered. “Traveling through the ley lines has gone on since the time of the fae. Originally it was only the fae who used the ley lines, but then humans cracked the code of magic. They found many different methods to travel the ley lines…”

“So, are there galactic ley lines, like in Outlaw Star?” Gabe asked. Drake was not nearly as amused.

“They are everywhere. Invisible rivers of magic that traverse mountains, countries, stars, universes, and worlds,” Drake answered.

He continued, “Traveling has been going for millennia for humanity and other non-fae races. Relics, artifacts, keys, spells do get lost and dropped in various worlds that allows someone to travel. You also have the ley lines themselves. Just how you need certain keys to open doors or certain types of boats to cross certain waterways, ley lines can be opened or crossed with certain actions or situations. Like accidentally unlocking a hidden passageway by leaning on a loose brick. Such was the situation with your dice. It is no surprise someone often finds or creates a way to accidentally spirit themselves away. Oh bloody…”

The glowing footprints veered off course, down a very narrow, and very steep tunnel. The tunnel led into lower depths of the Sentinel. Drake could not figure what would drive them to choose that particular pathway. The tunnel was rough and crudely carved, lacking all the appeal and amiability of the main tunnel system.

Drake gritted his teeth. “Looks like someone found their way out.”

“How bad would it be if they got out? Gabe asked, anxiously.

“Depends,’ Drake answered as they followed the steps.

“Depends on what?” Gabe asked with a pause.

“Depends on what they run into or what runs into them.”

Gabe gulped and hurried after Drake.

“Has anyone escaped? You didn’t get to them in time or they got away?” Gabe asked, attempting to make small talk. “I’m just a little curious, not a criticism.”

“They have,” Drake answered. “If I don’t find them someone else does and sends them ‘home’, or I have to rescue them from angry townsfolk. Once they realize there’s magic, but no internet, they are suddenly eager to leave. Then there is having no money and no skills to make money save for day laborer. Which is hard work for mere copper. Coppers only covers a straw mattress and oat pottage—you’ll be lucky if you can afford the salt to flavor it. So many of the townsfolk have been flashed cell phones that they are unimpressed, and fully aware those phone’s batteries will eventually die and you know…there’s no internet, leaving the phones useless. They’re more likely to get burned at the stake for being annoying than be mistaken for a witch or thought as a god. Usually, word gets back to me. Then I have to swoop in.”

Gabe stopped in his tracks and thought for a moment. Head down, he followed behind Drake’s hulking form.

“I…I used to make picture frames with my grandfather,” Gabe said out of the blue.

“Hmm?” Drake said, turning his head.

“My grandfather and I…we used to make picture frames. He had this huge pile of scrap wood in his barn; he didn’t throw anything away,” Gabe said. “If I spent the weekend, we’d go out and pick out some pieces of wood and make picture frames. They were easy to make, we’ll make a couple, paint and stain them. I made a lot of weird sized ones with different types of woods. I don’t think there are any pictures that would fit them…”

“Sounds like a lovely way to spend a weekend,” Drake said politely, hiding his confusion at Gabe’s sudden and random story.

“Sorry,” Gabe apologized. “High school is coming to an end, and I…I have no idea what to do. My mom thinks I should go to community college, my stepdad thinks I’m an idiot and can’t do anything right or at all. I haven’t seen my dad since I was in second grade. My grandfather passed away. I don’t know what to do…because I don’t what I can do…”

Regret hit Drake like a boulder tossed from a trebuchet. His earlier tirade was aimed at the wrong person. Gabe took it to heart. He needed to stop venting his grievances with those who had the misfortune of offering him an ear to complain into.

“What do you want to do?” Drake asked him. Gabe paused again. Drake waited for his response.

Gabe froze, flabbergasted. The light loomed above his head, illuminating him like a spotlight. A patient Drake, waiting his answer, did not help Gabe’s stage-fright.

“I…I don’t know…”

“Surely you have many different interests out there,” Drake said. Gabe twisted his shirt in his hands, and looked at the ground.

“I don’t know…”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out”, Drake reassured him, giving him a pat on his shoulder. “Let’s continue on our search.”

He understood that Gabe’s lack of motivation was likely born out of lack of focus and encouragement. It sounded like Gabe had so much emphasis aimed on his faults and failure, he was completely unaware of his capabilities. With his own limiting knowledge of their world, Drake was not sure what desperately wanted guidance he could offer the young man. All he could offer was an ear and a few pats on the back. Presently, the kid needed that more than direction.

Their travel for the next few minutes was silent. Drake listened for his other charges, while quietly damning himself. Gabe, seemed lost in thought. When Drake would turn around to check on Gabe, ensuring he was still behind him and was well, Gabe’s eyes would be fluttering around, his lips murmuring as the gears in his head shifted and turned.

After a few minutes of relative silence, Gabe began to speak up.

“I’ve been watching this guy’s videos on the internet,” Gabe said. “He refurbishes a lot of furniture and uses cardboard boxes to make displays for his collections. I made a huge shadowbox for my Funkos out of cardboard. Glue, notches, I painted it, and you can’t tell it is cardboard. It’s really sturdy, I made it from discarded shipping boxes.”

Drake gave Gabe a genuine smile. “Sounds quite impressive.”

“I…I…kinda want to refurbish things,” Gabe slowly admitted as he plodded along. “When I’m playing Starfield, I listen to restoration videos. Or live on a homestead, or plant a food forest; I just learned about them, but they seem really cool…something cool…something that will last.”

“There you go,” Drake said warmly. “Anywhere you can go to fulfill your interests?”

“There’s a thrift store in the middle of town that always has old furniture,” Gabe said. “I can at least sand them down and repaint them and flip them, to start out. My uncle would lend me his garage and tools. People always leaving furniture on the curb, too. I always wanted to make custom display cases…or Wunderkammers…those are really cool. There’s also this girl at my school who makes displays for pins and miniatures…she does some cool stuff…and sells them at cons…I could get help from her too.”

As Gabe spoke, he became more and more spirited. Drake could feel the excitement radiating from him.

Drake chuckled. “Seems like you have an excellent plan for when you return home.”

“I have an old chest in my bedroom. I always wanted to repaint, and an old stepstool,” Gabe continued, “I can get my start there. I can do it during break.”

“I think you know what you want to do. Personally, I think it’s a well-thought-out endeavor.”

“You really, think?”

“Yes, I think you’ve been thinking about this for a very long time,” Drake answered. “You just needed to say it. Now that it is in words, you need to put it in action.”

Gabe smiled, “Thanks, Drake.”

“You’re welcome, Gabe,” Drake said.

They continued on their way. With pep in his step, Gabe excitedly followed behind Drake. On more than a few occasions Gabe nearly tripped over Drake’s tail and bumped into him.

As they navigated farther and farther down the tunnel, the terrain grew rough, rocky, and uneven before transforming into a natural cave system; a remnant of the Sentinel’s original form. Boulders and piles of stones were scattered about. Scorched patches of ground spoke of ancient fire pits. The crumbling remains of altars were positioned among the boulders. Disintegrating bones and shards of pottery littered the ground.

Torches were few and far between. Drawings and carvings—druidic in nature and older than even Drake—decorated the walls. In the dark and dankness, the pictographs glowed lightly, fed from effects of the ley lines. Forms of fae, humans, deer, and snakes frolicked, prostrated, hunted, and died among and below drawings of spirals, trees, stars, and stages of the moon.

One particular pictograph was that of a winged, two-headed dragon. Its serpentine necks wrapped around each other, breathing flames onto the fleeing human forms. Others bowed before it. It dwarfed the mountain range and forest carved behind it. Unlike the soft greens and blues of the other pictographs, a garnet-red glow emanated from it.

Gabe stared at the scene for a few extra moments. Drake gave it a cursory glance, looked at the ground, and huffed. He continued on his task. Drake lit the torches, which did little in the vast caverns. Realizing he was losing track of Drake, Gabe rushed up behind him.

“Have you ever considered, turning this into a business venture?” Gabe asked as he maneuvered around boulders. “Just let people vacation here for a few weeks and live out their fantasies? You’ll make a killing with influencers.”

“Absolutely not,” Drake answered. “There are worlds where that has happened. Somethings just need to be left to their own devices—this goes for both parties. Not every person who comes here is going to let things be…and some have ulterior motives. You don’t want a world where magic has been militarized.”

“Sorry,” Gabe answered, catching up to Drake. “I’m surprised you don’t merc someone the moment they get here. You don’t want word getting back.”

“I’m a dragon. I’m a monster, I’m not a bloody savage,” Drake answered with an irritated edge to his voice. “The people of this world may not be as advanced as other worlds, but they’re not savages either. Though, if pushed enough, like any folk...”

“Sorry,” Gabe repeated. “So, this is all you do…just wait for people to show up?”

Gabe could hear a rumbling through the thick, rocky walls. It grew louder and louder as they drew near. The air was thick with moisture and very, very cold. He could feel the moisture clinging to his once dry clothing. He knew the rumbling of a waterfall.

“I have other duties and other hobbies,” Drake said, speaking up over the din. He slowed his pace. “I was commissioned by the Wizards Enclave as guardian. I’m also a protector, keeping many relics safe, while able to escort the odd visitor home.”

“Okay,” Gabe said. “Do you…do you do anything else?”

“If you’re talking about hobbies, during this time of the year I usually read,” Drake answered.

“What do you read?” Gabe asked. “I read a lot of classic science fiction…Butler, Bradbury, Asimov. I also like the works of Mary Shelley and Jules Verne, they’re old school. I really don’t do the fantasy stuff anymore, mostly because I think George R.R Martin ruined it for me. But Gene convinced me to join one of their tabletop sessions because they really wanted to beat Skyler’s dungeon for once, and my mom wanted me to get out more…”

“I’ll read anything,” Drake quickly answered Gabe, as he looked over slick boulders and rocks for a hidden soul.

Drake would have love to sit there and chat with Gabe over books. Sadly, it was too loud to hold a productive conversation. Drake also felt they would soon encounter Gabe’s friends.

“Do you hear that?” Drake said. His thick neck arched back; his narrow ears pricked up.

“What?”

“Someone’s yelling,” Drake answered. “Oh bullocks…I hope no one’s drowning.”

Drake took off like a cat, quickly navigating over and around the boulders and crevices. Gabe was taken back by how swiftly Drake moved. He struggled to keep up, climbing over boulders and slipping between ones too massive or too slick to climb.

The uneven terrain gave way to a vast cavern behind the waterfall. Gone were the boulders and rocky ground, instead was a circular dock, carved and smoothed from the very stone ground. A few benches and posts were placed around the dock. Located in a far-off corner, was a cabinet containing fishing poles and nets. Everything was oddly dry and quiet despite being built behind a waterfall.

Panting heavily and chest heaving, Drake was up against a wall, pressing his hand against into the stones. His eyes glowed blue, matching the soft glow from the earlier pictographs.

The uproar from the waterfall muted into a soft, distant rumble. Torches and symbols carved into the stony dock lit up, setting the darkened cavern alight.

Splashing about and screaming a few feet from the dock was one the last scaredy cat…or Rodney as Gabe knew him. Rodney was struggling to reach the dock. He was panicked, even more so when he first laid eyes on Drake. There was a dark mass, even darker than the water itself, wriggling around Rodney. A line of silver or a golden speck of an eye would flash in the darkness.

Gabe immediately became just as panicked as Rodney, terrified he was watching Rodney meet his end at the hands…fins…mouths of some sort of enchanted winterized piranhas or some sort of Lovecraftian tentacle monster. Drake faced the situation with his typical nonplussed nature.

He kneeled onto all fours. Then with one hand, yanked Rodney by the back of his hoodie and shirt, like he was pulling an opossum out of a koi pond. Rodney kicked and screamed, completely focused on the black mass than the dragonman he had been attempting to escape from most of the morning.

The black mass spread out into several distinct serpentine heads that snapped at Rodney’s legs. The heads came right up to the dock, threatening to pull themselves up onto the dock after Rodney.

“It’s a hydra! There’s a goddamn hydra!” Rodney screamed. “He’s got a hydra!”

“Holy unagi,” Gabe said, staring into the dark waters. Dozens of beady eyes stared back among the wriggling, writhing mass.

“It’s not a bloody hydra. They’re eels,” Drake explained. “Freshwater eels. They’re probably hungry from the winter. They want bread.”

“WHAT!” Rodney screeched. Drake’s explanations did not soothe him.

“B-R-E-A-D,” Drake answered, picking him up by his soaking wet clothes. “Get your head of the gutter. Then get it out of your ass after you’re done with that. How many times do I have to rescue you today for you see I’m not going to bloody murder you? Bloody hell, I offered to make you breakfast!”

Drake did not drop Rodney, despite Rodney swinging at him. Instead, he dried Rodney’s very soaked clothes. After drying Rodney’s clothes, Drake still did not let go. He let Rodney swing at him, missing him each time, until the back of his hand struck one of Drake’s horns. The jolt of hardened, ridged horn against Rodney’s boney, thin-skinned hand, cowed the human…or at least kept Rodney from attempting to strike him again. Drake was also soaked from Rodney’s thrashing, and looking less and less thrilled with each passing moment.

Gabe stood behind Drake, watching the scene, embarrassed.

“If I let go, are you going to run?” Drake asked him bluntly. “My patience is getting very low.”

“No sir,” Rodney choked. “No, sir, I’ll behave.”

“Good, now where did the last one go?” Drake asked, running his hands down his soaked clothing, drying himself.

He tried to retain his composure. His ears, pressed back, and tail, angrily flicking back and forth like some sort of reptilian cat, spoke otherwise. With raspy scrapes, his clawed feet dug into the smooth stone of the dock, marring it with thin scratches.

“Gene? He got out. I tried to follow and slipped in,” Rodney admitted, nearly crying at the sight of an agitated Drake.

“Collect yourself,” Drake said. “They’re just some fish.”

Wizardboy…Gene…was the only one left. The final boss…as he had been informed in the lingo from previous visitors. Drake had no anticipation, no fear, or excitement upon approaching this boss…just a growing irritation.

The coldness, the darkness, the noise…the exercise of this morning’s “adventure” …was getting to Drake. Every time his mind would wander to his earlier plans— the visions of his beloved chaise lounge, a cup of warm of warm, spicy tea, a new book surrounded in the warmth, the amber glow and coziness of his reading room—the state of his current situation would immediately wash those longings away in a flood of chilliness, darkness, and stress. Every scrape, chill, shrill noise was a jarring reminder of the demise of his day’s plans.

Gene’s glowing footprints faded away into the bright, glow of the winter sun. Stepping out in the sunlit landscape, was blinding. The chill and wind of the outdoors were harsher, snappier than the dampness of the cold lower levels of the Sentinel.

Drake huffed, his scales raising and clicking in the cold air. He wished he had grabbed his robe, or a cape. Looking up at the position of the sun in the indifferent sky, Drake growled.

He did not expect this endeavor to take all morning. His stomach rumbled, coffee and few mouthfuls of apples were not a sustaining meal.

He damned himself more than anything. He should have just escorted all them immediately to the portal and sent them straight home. He should have grabbed a cloak. He should not have putzed around making breakfast for his guests.

His eyes adjusting to the brightness and clearness, Drake studied the landscape. The magic glow faded the moment Gene stepped out of the Sentinel. Fortunately, nature aided Drake in his search.

Gene’s faltering tracks sliced through the untouched snow. The young man was stumbling either from exhaustion or the rocky, snow-covered terrain. His trail followed the bank of the small river. Steep, rocky sides and impenetrable thickets kept Gene from veering off the bank and out into the wilderness.

Bracing himself, Drake trailed Gene. His draconic body and his very, very human irritation, propelled him over the rough terrain and through the layers of icy snow and ice with animalistic ease.

Around a bend Drake came upon his quarry. The rocky banks had given way to a finer terrain of sand and silt. With the thick covering of snow covering the ground, Gene was caught unaware. He was pulling his shoe from the mire when Drake came into his field of vision.

He fell backwards, flailing his arms and legs.

“I AM NOT GOING BACK!” he exclaimed, pulling himself up.

In his grasp, he held Drake’s staff and a book. Drake was taken back, not because of Gene’s ‘weaponry’ but from the sheer audacity.

“Did…did you steal my staff?” Drake asked. His eyes set on a book, clutched in Gene’s red, windchilled hand. “And one of my books!”

Gene aimed the end of the staff at Drake. The blue crystal pointed at his chest. “I’m not going back. Not now, not ever.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Drake explained to him. “Put my staff down. And put the book down! It’s dangerous. Let’s go back. I made you food, I can make you something else if you don’t like it.”

“I’m not going back. I’m not going back! I don’t want a fucking tea party with a fat goddamn reluctant dragon with that goddamn group of losers. They might be okay with their lives, but I’m not a sheep!” Gene snarled. “I am a mage! I am a mage! I can’t go back there. I’m not going back a loser. I made it here; I’m staying here. You are lying!”

Gene flipped open the book and began to read from its pages. Drake tensed up. Who knew when the local magic would decide to listen? Confident, Gene smirked, holding the dragon at bay.

“Back off, Trogdor!”

As the words poured from Gene’s trembling lips, the air grew thick with static. The bubbling water of the river muted. Birds stopped singing. The wind grew still. From its crystal core, a faint blue glow formed at the end of the staff.

His brown hair slowly rose up in the air as he chanted his spell. His smile grew more and more demented with each passing word, each passing second. The glow grew stronger and stronger. Drake grew more and more fearful.

There was nothing more dangerous than a fool with power. Gene had power and wanted it.

And he was desperate.

Then the words of Gene’s spell hit Drake’s ears. Brineus bosewes. Egredouncye. Chare. Egges. Dight. Dewte on be eggys…

“YOU BLOODY MORON!” Drake shouted at the young “mage”. “It’s a bloody cookbook. You stole a bloody cookbook! AN ANTIQUE BLOODY COOKBOOK!”

With that the magic stopped. The light in the staff and the light in Gene’s eyes died. His hair fell flat against his head.

“NO!” Gene exclaimed. “I’M NOT A FUCKING JOKE! I’M NOT GOING TO BE A JOKE ANYMORE.”

In a fit of rage, Gene hurled the book towards the river. Like a bird taking off, the book flew through the air, its aged, stiff pages flapping in the wind. With a cracking thump, it landed spine up and pages down, on the ice. Drake gasped in terror.

On all fours he launched himself across the bank and ice towards the book. Crashing through the ice and into the water, Drake snatched up the book. Completely unconcerned that he was waist deep in freezing, waters, Drake inspected the book.

The spine broke in the landing, many pages were bent, and moisture began to seep into the pages causing the ink to bleed out and the words to blur. Using the magic the best he could, Drake drew out the water from the parchment. The bleeding stopped, but the words remained blurry and the pages stained.

He held the book against his chest and breathed deeply, in relief, in heartache, and anger.

Thanks to his privileged upbringing, Drake never had the need to cook or learn how to cook. Cooks and servants tended to him for the first few centuries of his life. His father doted on Drake and his siblings, encouraging them to enjoy meals with a more rustic origin. While Drake most definitely relished his father’s cooking, Drake never contemplated the actually processes involved in cooking. His childish mind and stomach were only engrossed on the outcome.

As he grew older and his position in the court solidified, Drake fed upon many coursed meals, entertained guests over grand feasts. His only thoughts were over consumption and socializing. He focused more on the socialization aspect of his exitance, with no particular thought or interests in the food before him, other than to boast over local agriculture to guests, to encourage commerce between visiting kingdoms. He never once pondered their construction or the labor involved.

Left in the Sentinel to his own devices, little experience, and no servants to cater to him, Drake relied heavily on the books to fill his needs and shortcomings. The various books in the various libraries served as Drake’s educators and entertainment…his companions, in this lonely, lonely boring existence under a mountain, miles away from town. His previous life a mere memory now.

Drake’s cooking experience could only afford him eggs, which usually ended up scrambled due to his lack of skill, hot tea, and various sandwiches or fruit and cheese platters. As he worked his way through the vast libraries, he found the cookbooks very beneficial, even sympathetic, to his situation. While he had never developed the skills to recreate the comfits, stuffed and gilded cockentrice, and overly ornate pies of his childhood, but he learned to make many delicious and substantial meals from the humble ingredients of his pantry. He had years to perfect his skill, to experiment. He took comfort in the process.

It reminded him of his father, and he wondered, as he flipped hot cakes and stirred stews, if any he picked up any of his father’s mannerisms. As child, he was too focused on the meal, to pick up any of his father’s little tricks as he cooked for his family.

Damaging a book, something that gave him so much, wrecked his heart. It was akin to losing a dear friend. He pressed the book against his chest.

While Drake mourned, Gene escaped, leaving both his mired shoe and Drake behind.

Snarling, Drake pulled himself from the water. He wiped the snow from a flat rock and dried it with magic. Gingerly, he sat the book down and gave it a pat. Still wet and very incensed, Drake went on all fours and charged after the human.

Gene turned around to see the dragon quickly gaining on him. His foot and ankle burnt from the icy snow. Every stone his foot, adorned only by a sock, stepped on sent a sharp pain up his leg.

Gasping for breath, Gene tried to sprint faster. In the distance, he could see an opening. It appeared to be a hillside, perhaps, he could slide down it and escape his draconic pursuer.

But his escape plan was thwarted as he tripped over a piece of driftwood, wedged and buried under the snow. Striking the ground and all the stones hidden under the snow, Gene knocked the wind out of his lungs. Unable to slow down, Drake slid past Gene’s prone form. Drake twisted around to face Gene.

Gasping and holding his stomach, Gene pushed himself up off the ground. Returning to his two-legged stance, Drake walked up to him. Unamused, Drake put his clawed foot down onto Gene’s back and pushed him into the ground.

“I am no going back to my shit life with my shit friends, my shit school, my shit job, and shit family. Have Skyler laugh at me that I didn’t even make a FUCKING DAY in a magical world! I am not doing that,” Gene gasped. “You cannot make me. I finally have a chance to make my life better. I can be something else, anything else! To get away and you’re going to take it away from me? Those idiots might be okay you doing that, but I’m not!”

“Yes. Yes, I can and yes, I will,” Drake said in subdued anger. “Life is what you make out of it. You could have made this a nice little layover, but you chose not to. I suppose that same mindset is why your life is so…shite. Do you really think, things will be any different here?”

Gene, his face burning red from anger, exhaustion, and the cold snapped back at him. “Am I supposed to care what you say? You’re a damn dragon and you chose to be a damn pet. You bake cookies and read books, that is all you do! You watch over a damn rock. Don’t take your anger out on me just because your life sucks. I’m not you and I’m not them!”

Drake dug his foot deeper into Gene’s back, “Freeze.”

“What the hell! I can’t move!” Gene screamed. “What did you do?”

“It’s only temporary,” Drake explained. “A simple spell; it will make transporting you easier for me. I have had quite enough of your tomfoolery. I had my own plans for the day that have been greatly diverted by your antics this morning.”

“SCREW YOU!” Gene snarled.

“Knock it off, Gene,” Gabe stated bluntly. “Just knock it off.”

Behind them, stood Gabe and Rodney. Drake was uncertain how long they had been standing there as witnesses. Of course, Gene’s angry laminations echoed down the riverbed, so they definitely heard him. Gabe looked drained. Rodney was subdued, though there was still worry across his face. In his hands, he held Gene’s abandoned, muddied shoe. He looked at Gene. He looked disappointed. In his hand, close to his chest, Gabe cradled the cookbook while carrying Drake’s staff in his other hand.

Drake picked Gene up and slung him over his shoulder. No need for a silencing spell. His “friends” abrupt appearance both gagged and subdue Gene better than any spell.

He strode past Gabe and Rodney. “Come one, let’s get something to eat and have something to drink. We all had a busy day.”

He jostled Gene on his shoulder. The young man said nothing.

“Serious, Gene?” Rodney asked him. “Serious?”

After that small conversation, the trip back to the Sentinel was silent.

“What would you like on your toast? I have jams, jellies, preserves, and marmalades,” Drake asked. “I apologize for adding raisins to the bread pudding, but your sudden departure had left me in bit of a foul mood.”

“What do you suggest, Drake?” Gabe asked.

The trip back to the kitchen was as exhausting as it was quiet. In his final act of rebellion, Gene refused to walk when set down and freed from his hex. Drake was forced to lug Gene’s petulant limp form all the way back to the kitchen. Gene did not speak or look at his companions. There was no regret on his ruddy, round face, only determination and anger.

Entering the kitchen, Drake fully expectedly to be greeted by clouds of smoke and smell of burning bread pudding. Instead, the kitchen retained its coziness and warm glow, and smelt of toasted bread and toastier spices. The bread pudding, quite cool, sat on the counter, perfectly cooked, perfectly set. Notebook…Paul…still sat at the back of the table, still buried in his notebook. The other scaredy cat, Steve, mulled over his mug of finished tea, deep in contemplation.

“Grapefruit and pomelo marmalade is a personal favorite, but it is an acquired taste. Highly acclaimed fruit back in day. They’ve become quite…reviled in recent years,” Drake exclaimed. “I suppose if you’re looking for something more exotic than your standard preserves, I suggest the black current or gooseberry.”

“I’ll try gooseberry,” Gabe said.

“So are black currants like grapes?” Steve asked. “Like how dried, they’re like raisins?”

“A bit, just a tad better,” Drake answered.

“I guess if they’re a bit like grape jelly, I’ll try that,” Steven mused. Drake was mildly amused at someone could revile raisins but like grapes.

“I also have red currant if you’re feeling a tad more adventurous. Would you want try both?” Drake asked. The sight of a clean kitchen, an unburnt bread pudding, and a fulfilled request, did brighten his mood. He was still irked, but he decided to make the most of situation.

A pauper’s banquet.

This was nothing like the feasts Drake had hosted centuries ago…toast and jam to be washed down with tart cups of hibiscus tea, a far cry the tables of exotic meats and pastries and flagons of fruit ciders.

Steven shrugged. Rodney requested orange marmalade…just like Paddington. Paul just shrugged, still uninterested, while Gene remained silent and seething.

Drake toasted two slices of thick brown bread for each of his guests. His magic kept the toast from cooling as he added a thick layer of butter. Upon the layer of melting butter, he spread a thick layer of preserves, glistening and glittering like jewels upon their bready bed. Picking through his pantry, Drake decided on a raspberry jam for Paul, and apple butter for Gene. Drake almost smeared a thick dollop of sour grape jelly on Gene’s toast, but decided it was for the better to use a different option.

No need to rub salt into the wound. Currently, Gene needed to consider the future of his friendships rather than his future as a wizard.

Drake set their plates in front of his guests. As they ate, he leaned against his counter, sipping on tea and imbibing in a slice of bread pudding. Drake pondered over preparing a simple sauce for the remainder of the bread pudding. All the dried fruit he had added out of spite had drawn most of the moisture from the bread. It felt dry upon his tongue. Tasty, but dry. Drake downed his glass of tea. The pudding sat in his stomach, not quite filling his belly. Once his guests leave, he will need to find something more substantial.

Gabe, Rodney, and Steven, discarding their earlier distress, happily munched and crunched on their toast. Paul set his notebook down and wolfed down both slices of his toast. Gene ignored his toast.

Toasts devoured, cups emptied, and plates were cleared from the table. Steve decided he liked both currant jellies. Gabe came to the conclusion that gooseberry was not his favorite flavor. He ate Gene’s toast, since Gene refused to touch it. Paul said nothing, and Rodney said his marmalade was “good”.

His guests prepared to leave. Paul finally put his notebook away. Gene remained the ever-petulant child, as Drake herded them out of the kitchen. Drake had pull him from the table and push him out the door like a fat, defiant cat.

Drake led them through the lengthy tunnel system to their destination. As they traveled, the group, aside from Paul and Gene, prattled and chattered among themselves and with Drake. They peppered him with small talk and questions. Gene groused. Paul, though silent, still took the time to examine the artwork.

“Careful now,” Drake explained as they stepped out onto the ledge. “Don’t want anyone plunging to their deaths.”

“Yeah, we don’t want that, now do we?” Gene mumbled; arms crossed.

Drake rolled his eyes, but made a mental note to keep an eye on Gene.

“Just up the ledge,” Drake said, following behind them. “You’ll know it when you get there.”

Drake lagged behind the group as they trudged up the steep trail. The two scaredy, understandably, became apprehensive at the height and the plunge. Occasionally, one would suddenly lock up, unable to move. Gentle goading would ease them along. Gabe proudly took lead. Paul was his usual stoic self, unfazed and unimpressed by the view. Gene pouted his entire ascent, trudging like he was participating in a death march.

“This it, Drake?” Gabe asked, pointing ahead.

“If you see the pillars, you are there,” Drake responded.

“Oh goody, a pile of rocks,” Gene muttered. “So amazing, so wonderful. How is a pile of rocks gonna send of us home?”

Drake snorted and ignored him. “I need you to enter the center of the runes.”

Three of the five obeyed Drake. Gabe, and of course, Gene stood back. Gabe dug through his backpack.

“Before I go, I want you to have this,” Gabe said, handing Drake a thick, dog-eared tome. “It’s a collection of public domain science fiction stories. I already have several of them in other book collections. I think it is a nice introduction into the genre.”

Drake was taken back, but very excited. “I will treasure this. Thank you, Gabe. I hope life treats you well.”

Gabe beamed then went into the circle. Gene stood back and swatted at a curious fairy. It immediately nipped him, drawing blood. He snarled angrily and swatted at the fairy, sending it bouncing into the brush. With a hiss, it flew back.

“You too,” Drake said, holding the book to his chest, pointing at the circle with his staff.

“Please reconsider,” Gene begged. “You can’t send me back there. I’m a nobody there.”

“You’ll be a nobody here too,” Drake answered. “I’m speaking from experience.”

“You’re not giving me a chance,” Gene pleaded.

“You had a chance,” Drake explained. “You could have had a nice morning in a magical land with a nice breakfast. I would have shown you a few things and then sent you on your way, but you made a choice. Life is what you make of it. I’d advise taking that advice and fixing your attitude then apologizing to your friends.”

Drake looked at Gene’s companions who watched the scene unfold. Rodney looked irritated. Steve was confused. Gabe looked tired and fed up. Paul…Paul just watched.

“Don’t do this to me.”

His dourness, his bitterness gave way to desperation. Drake shook his head.

When he looked back up, at Gene, at the rest, his eyes glowed blue. The runes light up. The air sparked and sparkled as the stones activated. Fairies scattered from the surrounding bushes. Swarming, they followed the swirling waves of magic.

Gabe, Rodney, Steven, and Paul disappeared in a flash of blue light. Still glowing blue, the runes pulsed and hummed. Gene looked at Drake. His eyes plead with the dragonman. Drake was unmoved.

“Goodbye, Gene,” Drake said and pushed Gene into the circle.

With a loud cuss, Gene disappeared in a flash.

Drake signed, staring at the empty circle. It was quiet, so quiet.

So empty.

He folded his robe around the book and set his staff down beside the bundle. He stood at the edge of the ledge and stared out into the distance, over the acres of forests, the mountain ridges, the lakes and ponds that dotted the landscape, the snow blown fields, and faded trails cutting through the forests and mountainsides.

He jumped.

Shay landed on her feet, keeping her balance perfectly with a heavy cardboard box in her arms. Her feet shuffled on the cold, frozen ground, but she was able to maintain her balance.

“Alright!” she exclaimed happily.

Then, legs outstretched, she promptly fell flat on her buttocks. The cardboard box thumped on her lap. Its contents spilled out into the snow.

“Dammit!” she exclaimed, rubbing her bruised tailbone.

Shay gathered up the books, wiped the snow from the covers, and the carefully stacked them back into the box. She dusted off the snow from her clothing and the box and began the trek down the trail. Carefully she watched her step, looking for any patches of ice or an exposed tree root.

She noticed what appeared to several sets of footprints in the snow. A sense of dread washed over her. Was it the trepidation of meeting new people? The fear of sharing her own little special spot with someone else? Fear for Drake?

Shay breathed in deeply. Once again, she probably just chose the absolutely worse time to visit him. She wanted to make it up to the dragonman for his kindness and hospitality...and apologize to him. But it felt like, she was making the situation worse.

Time to just soldier on and make up.

Halfway down the trail, Shay paused. She set the heavy cardboard box down. It was ladened with cheap, outdated books from the university’s book store. Shay hoped her enthusiasm would empower her to carry it all the way to Drake’s abode.

Lugging it across campus was rough, lugging it down the trail was rougher. She was secretly cursing herself. Her enthusiasm and stamina were waning. Perhaps she should have parceled the books out, bringing a few to Drake as payment for every visit. She was too excited to share, to give to him, that she greatly underestimated her own stamina.

The sun was still high in the sky. No monstrous frozen thing-from-another-world-wolf-dogs to worry about. Clearing off a stump, Shay sat down on it and breathed in the cold air. It was beautiful out. It was very quiet. Unlike her campus, frenzied and chaotic with noise, bodies, and traffic, it was still, quiet, and calm here.

No loud music, boisterous conversations, the rumble of engines and squeals of tires, the slamming of doors, the honking of horns…just gentle gusts of winds, the songs of birds, the creaking of tree branches, the babbling of icy rivers and creek echoing through a vast mountainside and valley. And it was just her, to enjoy it.

Shay took a few precious moments to enjoy the peace while she had it. She opened a bag of yogurt covered cranberries and popped a few into her mouth. She set the bag down in the box.

She looked into the forest. Snow, ice, and frozen moss clung to the ebony branches and tree trunks.

In a clearing, a family of deer foraged for food. Their coats were white as snow. Gray spots dappled their white coats. A line of gold ran down their sides to the tips of their tails. The stag bore a set of massive antlers colored in the same gold of his stripe.

For the next several minutes, Shay watched the does, the stag, and their fawns feast on the lichen and moss, completely unbothered by their audience.

Suddenly and silently, a massive dragon swooped down upon the deer family. The deer family dispersed. The stag nearly trampled Shay as it bounded through the forest and onto the trail. Shay took to the ground. She could hear the others gallop through the frozen foliage.

The cry of a deer followed by the crunch of bone and flesh echoed through the forest. No longer peaceful, the forest grew silent as everything from the remaining wildlife to the birds in the trees to Shay, huddled on the ground, kept from making a sound.

Terrified, Shay managed to peek up at the dragon, a massive winged form of dark, pine green and jet black. Its back was to her. Its wings obscuring its form, and its vision…hopefully. Its tail whipped back and forth as the dragon dispatched its prey.

A deer was not a substantial meal for a dragon, she realized. Perhaps, she could sneak by while it was distracted. Remain still, move slowly, don’t look like prey.

She’ll leave the box, pick it up later, or at least, until given further instructions by Drake. Cautiously, Shay began her slow, terrifying decent down the trail. Terror ran through her veins. She was trembling. She had never seen something so big. Her mind and body were struggling to just make sense of the scene. She felt the same sensation when she first encountered elephants at the zoo.

With the elephants, there were at least a barrier between them and her. Only a wall of brush and a few trees hid Shay from the dragon. And elephants don’t eat people.

She wanted to run, to escape. Shay slowly began to crawl along the ground, the ice and stones burning her hands as she traversed the ground. The icy water leaked through her jeans.

Then Shay slipped and landed with a “whumph” on the hard ground, jarring her wrist and smacking her chin off the ground with her landing. She gritted her teeth and remained still.

Alerted by the sound, prey in his mouth, Drake spun around. He assessed his environment. His eyes watched the sky and tree line, before his gaze slowly dropped the trail. The form of a human, laid prone on the ground.

Another guest, he growled to himself. Or one of the fools found their way back.

Then he realized, the form was taller, more mature…more feminine with jet black hair cut in a pixie cut and dark olive skin.

A very mortified “Shay?” was all Drake managed to blurt out at the sight of the collapsed figure and scattered books. He was terrified she had fallen or collapsed. Maybe a frightened deer had knocked her unconscious in its mad dash to escape him.

Prey still in his mouth, Drake stepped back, his dragon form posing more like startled housecat than an apex predator. His jaws clamped down onto the carcass, snapping it in half with a loud crunch that echoed through the silent forest. The front half of Drake’s meal fell to the ground with a disgusting “splurch” as its steaming entrails spilled out onto the snow.

“Drake?” Shay asked, completely shocked. Snow covered glasses, slipping off her face, she popped up.

Relieved, Drake dropped the rest of the deer onto the ground, and kicked snow over it. “Yes.”

She clutched her chest and began to breathe deeply, also relieved.

“So, you can turn into a dragon…”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s pretty…neat...”

“I’m sorry you had to see this. I try to keep the less savory aspects of my life from guests…”

“No, no, no…it’s okay. You’re a dragon…I cannot imagine a diet of hashbrowns and grilled cheese to be remotely healthy. My grandparents owned a farm, so we grew up slaughtering pigs and chickens…so you know…circle of life”

“Thank you for being understanding,” Drake awkwardly answered, wiping some gore from his mouth with his knuckle. His front limbs retained their five digits, though appearing more like paws than hands. His sharp looking fingernails turned into thick, triangular claws.

Their conversation was slow…awkward…like two people tied together, attempting to slowly navigate their way through a minefield.

“Cool…cool…” Shay said, staring at the ground, at the snow, not at the gore covered and blood-stained snow around a very blood-stained Drake. Steam poured from the hot blood running down his mouth and chest. “I brought you some books.”

“Good, good, I will be down shortly. You can let yourself in and get comfortable,” Drake said. “There is bread pudding in the kitchen. Do you think you can find your way there?”

“Cool…cool, I’m going to head down now,” Shay said. “I think…I won’t have any bread pudding. I just had lunch…”

“Okay,” Drake answered, licking the blood from his chops. “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

Shay gathered up the books then picked up the box while Drake patiently waited. He watched her rushing form disappear down the trail. Once he believed she was out of sight and sound, Drake returned to his meal. He snapped a hindleg from the rapidly cooling corpse with a loud crack.

In the winter cold, the body began to stiffen, and the blood thickened over Shay and Drake’s brief, uncomfortable conversation. Drake made quick work of his catch, leaving only a few pieces of pelt, the more unsavory bits of innards, and a congealed pool of blood.

Satisfied and with a crack of his wings, Drake took the air. Stopping at the runes, Drake collected his bundle and staff. In one, large clawed hand, protectively, Drake held the bundle against his chest.

Flying above the Sentinel, Drake searched for the waterfall. Holding the bundle even tighter to his chest, Drake swooped down and through the freezing cold water.

“GYAAA!” he shouted as the icy cold water and bits of frozen debris and ice crashed onto his form. His booming cry echoed through the chamber.

Still holding the precious book against, his chest, Drake shook off the water off. He set the book down onto a dry chest. Spells protected the chest and the cavern behind the waterfall from damage from the elements. Blood dripped from his face and chest, swirling in the puddles that formed at his feet.

Drake sucked in his breath then returned to the cascading water. Holding his breath, he stuck his horned head out into the deluge of crystal-clear water. The water, so cold it was painful, crashed down upon him. Eye closed and nostrils clamped shut, Drake tilted his head upward, letting water cascade down his face, neck, and throat.

“BWAAAAA!” he shouted as he shook his head back and forth. “Bloody cold!”

He snarled and shivered as he brought his head back in. He snorted and huffed about, clearing the cold water from his nose and ears. After one final shake, Drake felt ready to face Shay.

His transformation began with his wings. His wings shrunk, growing smaller and smaller, drawing closer to his large back before withdrawing into his shoulders, leaving only a pair of nubs. His scales shrunk and softened, losing their jagged edges and lightening in color, from the nori black to their crisp green color. His horns shrank. His teeth lost their daggerlike edges. His front paws thinned and stretched turning into hands and fingers His back cracked loudly as Drake returned to an upright posture.

Rolling his head about, Drake cracked his neck. He picked the fur and a few pieces of stubborn sinew from between his teeth. He gulped down some icy water and swished it about his mouth before spitting it back into the spray.

His scales shifted about as he dressed. He had shredded his clothes during his descent and transformation. Of course, he always kept spares handing the cavern, stored in the chest for whenever the urge over took Drake.

A primal need, buried deep within his draconic blood that would occasionally flare up…or…as he heard described…the need to go apeshitt.

Drake was not certain if that was the correct vernacular to describe his situation. Sometimes, he craved the wind, the air, the clouds, to fly above the landscape and traverse the mountain range by wing. He loathed this desire, this craving. It was an aspect of himself he hated managing. He wished it would have remained buried.

Buried under this mountain, with the overwhelming boredom, loneliness, with boundless pent-up vim and vigor begging to be released. Drake was left fighting with himself. His heart wanted freedom, chaos. His mind wanted control, structure. Then his stomach would throw in its own primal desires and tilt the argument in his heart’s favor.

After a few hours of frolicking and some minor terrorizing of local wildlife, his needs would be satisfied. He was rarely delivered fresh meat for his larder. Smoked bacon, varying hung and salted meats, and potted meat pastes were included with his supplies. If he wanted fresh meat, he would need to seek it out himself.

After a while, he would find himself longing for the comfort of home. He may have felt relief flying about as a full dragon, but he never felt whole.

This form…this accursed form…between human and dragon was his true form. He felt most comfortable, most whole as this…this dragonman, the form bequeathed upon him at birth.

“Dammit,” Drake grumbled, as he attempted to fasten his breeches with the clasps located above his tail. He was just barely able to clasp it. “I am putting on weight.”

He pulled a shirt over his head, leaving it untucked. He gathered up his bundle, his staff and trotted down to the kitchen. He set the book and bundle on a small table located outside of the kitchen door.

The kitchen retained its warmth and aroma from earlier in that day. Shay was seated at the kitchen table, flipping through a textbook. At her side was a bag of confections and a can of iced coffee, from which she casually took a sip.

“Hey…” Drake said upon entering. He collected his mug from the counter. There was still a bit of hibiscus tea left in the kettle, so he poured the remnants into his mug.

“Hello! Did you have some guests over? Shay asked, observing the crumbs strewn across the table top and dirty dishes in the sink. A pile of papers rested at the end of the table.

“Just a group of young lads, found their way here through a very involved tabletop session. They were dealt with appropriately and returned to their home with…minor setbacks,” Drake said. “No one was eaten. I just needed to take a walk after that.”

“I’m…I’m not bothering you, am I? I can head back if you need peace,” Shay said, standing up from her seat.

“You’re fine and welcomed here,” Drake reassured her then took a sip of tea.

“You…you have a little something,” Shay said, pointing to the side of her face, as she slid back down into her seat.

“Oh bloody,” Drake said wiping a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Do I have anymore?”

“I believe you’re good,” Shay answered. She picked her bag of confections and shook them at Drake, “Would you like some cranberries?”

“No thank you,” Drake answered. His stomach rumbled and gurled.

Mug in hand, Drake slid down onto a bench. His eyes lit up at the sight of the books Shay had collected for him.

“There was a clearance sell at our local bookstore. Most of these are outdated or too damaged be sold,” Shay explained. “There’s a lot of Shakespeare, Faulkner, Dickinson, and Austen in there. If I could get the guidebooks I got them too, to help you out. I doubt you there’s an interdimensional form of Sparknotes here.”

Drake picked up a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and smiled at Shay. Shay managed a small smile in return. There were still a few bits of fur stuck between Drake’s teeth.

“Thank you, Shay. These are quite lovely; you did not have to acquire such a bounty for me.”

“They would either rot on the shelf or get thrown out and rot in a dumpster. I’d rather they go to someone who would appreciate them,” Shay answered.

“I will appreciate them greatly,” Drake happily chortled, picking through the box, growing more and more excited at each new cover. Shay had retrieved quite a collection for him.

“Perhaps I can get you to write an essay for me in my romantic era literature class,” Shay joked. “Quick question, if you can turn into a dragon, can you turn in a human?”

“Yes,” Drake answered impassively while flipping through the pages of a book, “I’m not really that fond of it, even less so than my dragon form. I…I never felt comfortable in either. How tall are you may I ask?”

“Five foot nine,” Shay answered, then paused, “One hundred and seventy-five centimeters…”

Drake sucked in his breath.

“You…you are taller than me in my human form,” Drake answered, a bitter edge to his voice. “Years ago, when I was still involved in the court, five foot seven was attractive and tall. So was having pale skin, a large forehead and being a little overweight. When dealing with visitors, the form does not exude authority.”

Shay stifled a giggle. “Sorry.”

“It is okay,” Drake said, still picking through the books. “I was told I looked very much like my great-uncle; a man my mother would have wed if it weren’t for my father. That man had caused a particular amount of strife for my family and the country side. I and my family were not particularly keen with that form.”

Shay gasped, “That’s awful.”

“Cousin marriages were quite popular among the nobility. Family trees resembled wreathes,” Drake said. “If cousins were not available, nieces and uncles were a common pairing. Fortunately, my mother refused his marriage offering, and so was herself offered up as a sacrifice. In the end, she did find a way to break away from that tradition…as radically as possible.”

“I’m sorry about that, Drake,” Shay said. “Your family seemed have turned out quite wonderful despite all that happened to them.”

Drake did not answer, but took a slow sip of is tea. He looked down into his mug, into the blood red tea.

“Hey! It looks like your guests have left something,” Shay said, reaching for the pages, lying face down, at the end of the table. She picked the pages up and handed them to Drake.

“Oh,” Drake said, “One of the fellows was very, very involved with his notebook. I guess he left me a present.”

Drake spoke with trepidation as he took the pages from Shay.

Drake flipped over the pages. His ears flicked and his expression softened.

“Huh…not bad. Do you think you think he captured me?”

He held up a page, a sketch sheet of Drake’s head and face from various angles, sketched in pencil and pen ink. Shay stood up in her seat, leaning across the table.

“He did a really great job,” Shay admitted. “Definitely captured your essence.”

“Huh,” Drake said, oddly delighted, “I’ve never seen the back of my head before.”

He ran his hand behind his head, feeling the ridges and scales lovingly captured in the sketch. Drake flipped through the handful of pages, gesture drawings of Drake, warmups of his eyes, horns and scales, shaded and well detailed. Then Drake came to the last page and left out a squawk. Shay was mid sip as she caught a glimpse of the last image.

Coffee sprayed form her mouth and nose as she tried to duck away from Drake, the books, and the drawings. Fighting for her life, she coughed and choked before breaking down into a fit of laughter. On the other hand, Drake was left speechless and in a state of utter disgust. With a sneer on his face, he could only stare at the 8 by 11 piece of paper held with in his grasp.

It was a beautifully rendered picture of Drake…drawn realistically with fine detail and shading and with a pair of unrealistically large breasts stretched across his bosom using his staff as some sort of dance pole. His thighs and hips were given the same, engorged treatment.

“That is cursed,” Shay said, slapping Drake on the shoulder, “So…so…so very cursed.”

“This needs burnt…I need to burn this.”

Drake spoke mechanically and with intent.

Shay wiped the tears, snot, and saliva from her face. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean up my mess. Do you have any rags?”

“They’re by the counter,” Drake spoke, shuffling the pictures, placing the cursed image at the back of the stack.

Drake sat down at the table. Shay had retrieved a cleaning towel and commenced wiping down the table. Drake continued to pick through the books, conflicted. With such a wide range, he was too excited, too uncertain on where to begin.

“What are your studies today, Shay?” he asked. He pushed away the box.

“Just a reading and writing intensive course and a history course I am required for my major,” Shay responded. “I wanted to get into the Roman history course. The professor is only interested in the wars and politics. He has no interest in the architecture, so I opted for a different course. I would have really have loved to learn how they built their roadways and aqueducts and kept them functioning.”

“Hmmm,” Drake said, contentedly listening.

Like a cat basking in the glow of a fireplace, Drake savored Shay’s conversation. He wanted to tell her about how his mother loved architecture, about how she funded the development and construction of many of the landmarks in the city, the plumbing and waterways that water, fed, and cleaned the city; there was so much he wanted to tell her. BUT he wanted to listen to her more.

Shay prattled on for a bit about ancient Peruvian roadways and ancient hanging and floating gardens—both of Aztec and Babylonian construction. She wondered about their construction, how they could be reinvented to serve modern times. She spoke about her upcoming paper on the Romantic era, her general lack of enthusiasm on the topic…how the works were more tragic than romantic, before deciding this would be the topic of her term paper, exploring the romanticization of tragedy through prose in the romantic era as way of coping and an early, primitive form of therapy. She went on about how it compares to modern life and how people cope in her world.

Drake listened in, taking it in.

Shay paused, “I’m sorry, Drake, you seemed tired…I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“No, not at all. I had a large meal and had to deal with some bothersome guests,” Drake said. “My body is tired but my mind is quite alert.”

Shay popped a few cranberries into her mouth. Shaking the bag, she offered them to Drake again. “Do you want to try them? They’re better than raisins. They got yogurt and…way more sugar…but taste wise, they’re on a whole different level.”

Drake thought about for a moment, then opened his palm. Shay shook a couple into his palm. Drake popped them into his mouth then chewed.

“Better?” Shay asked.

“Much better,” Drake answered. “So much better.”

Chapter Text

Shay landed on her feet.

“YES!” she celebrated, holding her arms up.

Then her leg slipped. Nearly splitting, she caught herself, one leg squashed underneath her, the other outstretched, pulling her hamstrings. Her heavy backpack swung around, sending onto her bottom, albeit much gentler than previous landings.

“Dammit,” she said.

She pulled herself up and shook her scraped hands. She readjusted her backpack the began trotted down the pathway. As she strolled by the Drake’s hunting grounds, a murder of crows watched her with intensity from the bare tree branches. A few of their brethren hopped around the snow and frozen bracken, picking about the snow. The scent of decay faintly lingered in the air.

Avoiding eye contact, Shay quickened her pace.

A few hours earlier, the house was empty save for her. Karra ran out of her favorite mascara. It was apparently a store exclusive edition. The local store had sold out. However, according to the internet, another, nearby store had it in stock. So, Karra, her boyfriend, and Jen, who wanted…needed…one of those Pepperidge Farm cakes, packed into Karra’s car and set forth on their adventure.

Later, Shay received text from Jen, stating that store had sold out, but they were in close vicinity to another store, so their search continued. Lisa worked until 9 with a high probability she would stop at her boyfriend’s apartment after work. This left Shay to her own devices for the next few hours.

Shay took full advantage of her solitude. She cleaned out the fridge again and swept the floors. She collected trash from around the house and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. Underneath the fridge, the broom pushed out a half-full bottle of Kara’s special mascara. Shay placed it on the table. If Karra’s pursuit proved fruitless, she’d at least have something good to return home to, other than cake. Hopefully, it would encourage her to sweep the floors more often.

Her chores complete, Shay sat down to watch television. She made a peanut butter sandwich and opened a bag of BBQ chips, then sat in the center of the couch to veg out. Cable television was nothing but commercials and nothing on the streaming services caught her interest. All the funny videos on her feed were rehashes of previous funny videos she had watched. No one she had subscribed to had posted anything new. She hadn’t found any interesting rabbit holes to fall into for a few hours.

She threw on some background noise, a power-washer compilation then went to study. After an hour, she received a text from Lisa. She is spending the night at her boyfriend’s and wants to know if Shay could take her laundry out of the washer and toss it in the dryer on low. Her reward? A bag of unevenly cut pepperoni slices. Payment accepted. Quest completed. Awaiting reward. Pasta salad on the brain.

Shay was back on the couch. Another text. Karra can’t find her special mascara and is desperately picking through the make-up aisle at a gas station to find a close match while her boyfriend tries to console her. Shay let Jen know she found a partially used bottle under the fridge and to let Karra know.

Jen let Shay know she ate an entire red velvet Pepperidge Farm cake in the front seat of Karra’s car, all the while watching Karra through the massive windows of the gas station hysterically pick through the makeup aisle’s mascara selection.

In a weird way, Shay envied Jen.

Bored, her workbook complete and caught up the last chapter for the Romantic Era, Shay attempted to lose herself in mindless internet shorts. After watching the same sneezing Pomeranian puppy short four times, Shay lost interest and went to the kitchen.

From the cupboards, she removed a cup of instant extra spicy Korean Ramen. She sought her secret stash of packaged kimchi, hidden in a box of lightbulbs. She was the only person who changed the lightbulbs in the house. It was the perfect hiding spot.

The packaged kimchi was not as a great as jarred kimchi and lacking the delightful pop of active fermentation. The small packages still added a kick to any instant ramen. Then an idea struck Shay.

Into her tote she tossed a few cups of spicy, carbonara, and bone broth ramen in both beef and chicken. She was not entirely sure what Drake’s spice tolerance was. Given that he was both a dragon and also from the medieval ages; it could have been very high or very low. For toppings, she added a few packs of kimchi, the jar of chili garlic slices, slices of prepackaged American cheese, a pack of Tteokbokki, a bag of freezer burnt corn, and mozzarella sticks.

Hopefully Drake had eggs available. Shay doubted she could stick the landing and keep the eggs from breaking.

Her final offering were a few books thrifted from a yard sale. She doubted Drake would have an interest in Nicholas Sparks and Anne Rice’s later works. There were collections of Nathanial Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe’s works that would strike his interest, as well as Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber—obviously these were all someone else’s collection of former college books. She also found a copy of Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories with the original artwork by Stephen Gammel. She may have been purchasing that for herself more than Drake.

Ready, Shay slid her finger across the gilded sheets of the tome, and she was gone.

Currently, with a pep in her step, a plan in her mind, and snow in her shoes, Shay jogged down the trail. As she approached the end of the trail, a voice rose up.

“FOUL BEAST! The Great Hellstorm! The Cataclysm Bringer, I demand you raise your claws and fight me.”

“Do I look like The Bloody Great Hellstorm?” she heard Drake snap. “Go back home. You have the wrong dragon.”

No anger or rage to his voice. Just irritation.

“I heard you were a shapeshifter, a master of deceit, a destroyer of countryside and towns.”

“You heard right, but you’re talking to the wrong dragon. Hello, Shay.”

The knight turned with a clang. He lifted his visor to look at Shay. Drake, exhausted and dressed in a heavy maroon robe over his black trousers and grey tunic, stood at his doorway, a mug of spiced cider in one hand, a Popular Mechanics magazine in the other.

“Hello, Drake, did I come at a bad time?”

“No, you came at the right time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, very brave and very confused sir knight, I have a guest I must host,” Drake explained, holding the door open for Shay. He beckoned to her then hissed “hurry” through clenched teeth.

The knight held his gauntleted arm out, forbidding Shay.

“My dear lady, while I do not recognize the heraldic symbols of your house on your attire, I must warn you of this dragon’s proclivity towards destruction and vehemence. Please excuse my discourteous behavior, I mean you nether harm nor disrespect. A noblewoman such as yourself should not make an acquaintance with such a volatile beast, if he were not to devour you on spot, he would hold you hostage as he had done with so many young maidens.”

Shay looked at her hoodie. “It’s Simba…he’s from the Lion King…”

“Lion King? There are many houses with lions as their heraldic beast and many a king, duke, or earl who earned the name ‘lion’ in their title. What lineage do you descend from?”

“I’m not from around here. I’m foreign…very, foreign…like super foreign,” Shay said, inching away from the knight. She rushed by the knight. “It was nice meeting you! I’m not a maiden in distress, just a very overworked college student with a few hours to kill.”

She sprinted into the Sentinel’s foyer. Drake shut the door.

“What was that about?” Shay asked.

Drake sipped his cider. “It happens. Knight meets girl. Girl’s family doesn’t approve. Knight wants to slay a dragon. Hears about a dragon. I’m a dragon. Doesn’t ask any questions. Goes to my house. I get a knock on my door. Shenanigans ensue. Not the first time, not the last time. Obviously, he’s not from around here. Thank goodness he’s one of the honorable ones. The lawfully stupid sort. Wouldn’t raise a hand unless I raise a hand.”

“Did I come at a bad time?” Shay asked as they walked down the tunnel.

“Perfect timing, I was out there for two hours with him,” Drake said. “He had an old map of the Sentinel. Tried an old passage way and was caught by a golem.”

There was a loud knock on the door. “Dragon, I have traveled over mountains, through valleys, crossed rivers, and vast deserts…”

“I’m still not coming out, I’m still not fighting you,” Drake answered then loudly sipped his cider. “Go somewhere else fight some other dragon. I have my own agendas to attend to.”

“I’m not asking for your head, Dragon, I’m asking for your hospitality. I have traveled and wide, and have eaten very little substance. An opossum stole my rations. If you are not the cruel and callous beast you claim to be, would you quarter me…”

“He’s kidding, right?” Drake said.

Shay shrugged. “Don’t you like hosting people?”

Drake growled and handed Shay his mug and magazine. He opened the door. The knight had slumped against the door in exhaustion, the fell in onto the floor with a loud clang.

“Do I have your word you won’t try to slay me when my back’s turn?”

“You have my word, Lord Dragon.”

“I want your broadsword, too.”

“You may have it. “

“And your dagger and or dirk.”

“As you wish.”

“And your katzbalger.”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Hand over the misericorde.”

“Here.”

“Boot knife. Both of them.”

The knight removed a knife from either side of his boots and handed them to Drake.

“Hunting knife.”

“Here, is that it?”

“Do you have an axe or hatchet on you.”

“Yes, but it is for firewood.”

“I will take that, too. Polearms?”

“Milord, if I had a polearm, you would have seen me wielding it.”

“Crossbows? Long bows? Any arrows? Arrowheads?”

“No, Milord.”

“Any homemade shanks? Broken bottles?”

“No.”

“Knitting needles? Crocheting needles? Needles? Leatherworking tools? Scissors?”

“What do you think am I? A bloody traveling seamstress? I am a knight!”

“Consider purchasing them. Not that they’ll do me any harm, or any fantastic creature for that matter. It’s a good hobby for the long nights on the road.”

The knight sighed.

“Hand me your satchel, thank you.”

“Are you content now, dragon?”

“I think, so” Drake said, his arms filled. “Any dragonsbane?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t matter because it doesn’t work. Neither does silver, lead, or quicksilver.”

“Well, I mean lead and mercury are very poisonous,” Shake spoke up. “Mercurial thermometers and lead paint are ille—”

“I meant a quick death or incapacitate me for a beheading.”

Drake then made the knight’s belongings disappear into thin air. He took his mug and magazine from Shay. He began to stroll down the hallway.

“Okay, now let’s go.”

“That was my father’s sword, and his father’s sword and his father’s sword, forged from the heart of a fallen star mixed the bones of a griffin in the mighty caldera of an ancient volcano by the hands of a talented dwarven blacksmith blessed with Elvish silver, engraved and blessed with the tongue of the fay…”

“You’ll get the bloody thing back when we’re done. I’m a gracious host, not a stupid one.”

“The scarf my grandmama made just for me is in there too…”

Drake grumbled. “Do you need it now?”

“No.”

“Okay, we’re good? We all good?”

Shay nodded, biting onto her bottom lip. The knight’s helmet rattled as he nodded.

“Good, who is hungry?”

Shay raised her hand. The knight looked at her, confused, then slowly raised his gauntleted hand. With a wave of his hand, Drake led his guests down the long tunnels to his kitchen.

“Parsnip and neeps pie and cider, everyone okay with that?” Drake asked.

“What’s a parsnip?” Shay asked. “And a neep?”

“Parsnips and neeps? You’re feeding us the food of the peasantry? Surely a great and mighty beast and lord such as yourself would have a joint of mutton or a shoulder of venison…”

Drake grumbled. “Shay, you said you grew up on a farm, you don’t know what a parsnip is? And you—”

“Bazil of Rowley,” the knight answered, lifting his visor.

“Bazil of Rowley…beggars can’t be choosers.”

“We grew corn…”

“What’s corn?” the knight asked. “Truly you are from a foreign land. Why I have never seen such strange garments in my life.”

“They’re called sweatpants, and they’re from the clearance rack from the magical land of Tar-Jay. Trust me in a few centuries they’ll be very popular…”

“Are you a seer?” the knight leaned forward and quietly murmured. “Please whisper to me your visions…”

“Unfortunately, that won’t happen, Shay,” Drake spoke up. “The magic and the fay like to keep things at certain pace here. Unfortunately, technology has been proven to not keep the fay away, if not complicate the issue. So, we’re rather stuck in our ways. It is a shame no one will be able to experience sweatpants.”

Both Bazil and Shay sat down at Drake’s kitchen table. Shay quietly, Bazil with a loud clunk.

“While I can make items disappear into thin air, I cannot make a hot meal materialize out of thin air,” Drake said. “If you have the patience, I can make something of sustenance that will appeal to both palates.”

“Drake, do you have hot water and eggs?” Shay asked. “I brought something for all of us.”

She spilled the contents of her tote across the table. Drake immediately snatched up the books. Bazil stared in awe at the banquet spread before him. He picked up a container of ramen.

“I will take these,” Drake said, leaving the table.

“My lady, is this foolish pullet is breathing fire…is it a cockentrice? Is this brewed from the flesh of a cockentrice? Is this cockentrice meat?” Bazil asked. He whispered into Shay’s ear. “Are you a witch?”

At his stove, Drake filled his kettle with water, then ran his hand across the bottom. Steam poured from the spout.

“How many eggs, do you want, Shay?” Drake asked from his pantry.

“Three,” Shay answered as she sorted through the instant ramen containers.

“What sort of sorcery are these?” Bazil asked, shaking a container. “This is as light as a feather, surely there is not a substantial feast contained in here.”

“There’s a meal in there, not a healthy meal, but it’s a meal. That’s why you add toppings,” Shay said. “Chicken, beef, or carbonara?”

“Chicken!” Bazil said excitedly clapping his gauntleted hands. “Oh! I have not enjoyed a young pullet or even a stewing hen for many moons!”

“Drake, what flavor would you like?” Shay asked, partially opening a chicken for Bazil and an extra spicy for herself.

“You pick, Shay. It is your people’s specialty,” Drake said, sitting down at the table by her. He set down three eggs and the steaming kettle.

Shay was not entire sure if that was a jab at her dimension or her identity as a college student. She partially opened a beef bone broth for Drake. She’ll see how he handles the kimchi, then she’ll offer him the hot and spicy ramen to keep. Shay opened and dumped the packs of soup stock and dried vegetables into each container. She sorted through the toppings.

“This is corn,” she said to Bazil, showing off the corn.

He was fully impressed, even though the corn was slightly freezer burnt.

“What do you use corn for?” he asked.

“Everything,” she answered. “We eat it as is, in canned corn, in cream corn, popcorn, corn puffs, cornflakes, cornbread, corn muffins, nachos, tortillas…the almighty cool ranch Dorito…high fructose corn syrup…”

“So, you drink it too?” he asked. “Like barley and wheat for beer and ale?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But we worry more about obesity and diabetes than alcoholism and gout in my land.”

To each container, Shay added and organized the kimchi, tteokbokki, frozen sweet corn, and the cheese. Shay wondered if the ramen needed more protein. Should she have packed hotdogs or spam? Then she decided there was more than enough sodium. She cracked one egg into each container. Bazil watched, fully enthralled.

Carefully, she poured the steaming water into each container and onto the toppings. Quickly, she closed the lids and folded the tabs. Drake was more interested in his newly acquired books, while Bazil watched completely impressed.

“Now we wait,” she explained. She picked up the jar of garlic chips. “You’ll add these before you eat. It’s a shame I didn’t have spring onions; those would have added an extra oomph.”

“I have green onions,” Drake said, putting down Angela Carter’s the Bloody Chamber, “Would you like for me to get some? Is it too late?”

“Damn,” Shay said, “If you don’t mind. Do you have chopsticks?

“Of course,” Drake answered.

“You know how to use them?” Shay asked.

Drake got up from the table, his massive frame moving the sturdy table a few inches. He went to his pantry and returned with the desired silverware and a bunch of green onions.

“Yes,” Drake answered upon his return. “I’m quite familiar with them.”

He stood at his counter, slicing the green onions, “I had spent a decade as the ambassador in the court of the Blue Porcelain Emperor. The finest noodle soups I had ever eaten. The dumplings were equally as delectable. I would not say they were the best as all kingdoms and countries have their own local dumplings. Each are amazing in their own right. Picking a favorite would be a declaration of war.”

“You have been to the lands of Xu?” Bazil asked amazed. “I thought you never left your lair, sleeping for centuries at a time, only awakening to cause havoc then return to a deep sleep.”

“Wrong dragon,” Drake said answered, setting down forks, spoons, and chopsticks. He gave a bowl of green onions and a set of chopsticks to Shay. He gave a fork and spoon to Bazil.

One set was small and carved from ebony, while the larger set was white and carved from bone, obviously Drake’s personal chopsticks. Little fish were carved into the chopsticks. Shay quickly brushed the green onions into the ramen before clamping the lids.

“I’ve heard legends that a great and powerful, and very ancient dragon had awoken from its slumber. The Hellstorm, the Cataclysm of the Skies, the Great Maelstrom,” Bazil continued. “I promised my lord I would find this dragon and slay it to protect our kingdom. I am the only knight who has never experienced war or a battle. I must prove myself that I am worthy of my father’s legacy. I’ve been following the stories and tales. They led me to here.”

“I can assure the great and mighty Hellstorm is not as big and intimidating as you think. The stories have been greatly…exaggerated,” Drake said. “And war is overrated. It doesn’t make a man; it changes a man, breaks a man.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been around, both around the world and for a very long time,” Drake said, returning to his book. “You’ll be amazed how the passing of time changes tales for better or for worse. Details added or removed, pages lost, the definitions of words changing over time, context lost.”

“They say the Great Maelstrom wiped out an entire army with a blast of his fiery breath, his wings battered the three-hundred-foot tall warwolves a king constructed for a siege turning them into kindling. It is written in a firsthand journal from a solider on the front line. They say—”

“They say a lot of things, let’s change the subject. How’s school, Shay?”

“It’s fine. I have midterms coming up then I’m on vacation for a week. Spending it my high school friends and folks,” Shay said. “I have all my work done, just need to ace my midterm exams…or just pass them. I’m just trying to survive until finals…”

“Good,” Drake answered. He tapped his fingers on the table.

“I think the ramen is ready,” Shay spoke up. With nothing coming out of anyone’s mouth, it would be best to put something in them.

To each cup, she added a scoop of garlic chips, then Shay pushed a ramen container to each of her companions. Bazil removed his helm, to reveal the face of a young man, marred with a bright, red sunburn from his opened visor around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, and upper cheeks. The rest of his skin was bleached white. His lightly colored hair was in the shape of his helmet.

Drake punctured his egg yolk then neatly stirred about his ramen. Like a small child blessed with a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs, Bazil tucked into his bowl with fervor and excitement. Like a proud mother, Shay watched. Her charges engrossed; Shay tucked into her own cup.

With a loud slurp, she sucked down her noodles. They were delicious, but there was no bite, no kick of spice, just the flavor of MSG-laden chicken. She slurped the remaining noodle up and stared in terror at her dinner guests. Drake expertly picked out bits of topping and tasted them with his chopsticks. He bit into a partially melted stick of mozzarella. Still gripping the end in his chopstick, he stretched the cheese into an admirable cheese pull before chomping down with his large, sharp teeth.

Bazil, however, was turning red. His pale, bleached skin was turning redder and redder, matching his sunburn. He was sweating, but was fully focused on his finishing his cup. Drake noticed Shay staring at Bazil. He stopped and stared at Bazil too.

“Sir Bazil…are you faring well?” Drake asked, concerned.

“I can’t stop. I fear neither dragon fire or hellfire, I will not fear this bowl of pottage,” Bazil panted. He paused, waving his hand at his sweaty face. He panted, eye bulging.

He suddenly slumped, then slid out of his seat onto the floor like a slinky. He panted heavily, rattling about in his suit.

“He needs some milk!” Shay exclaimed, jumping up.

Drake jumped up to comply. Then suddenly, Sir Bazil sprung back to life and returned to his seat and to his ramen, scooping the extra spicy noodles back into his mouth.

“It is too delicious,” he said, slurping. “Too delicious to let it defeat me. The lady had spent a pretty penny on such vibrant spices! I will not disgrace her gift.”

“Does he still need milk?” Drake asked.

“Probably grab him a glass,” Shay said, watching in disbelief. “He’ll need something to combat the acid reflux.”

Drake returned with a glass of milk, which Bazil happily accepted. Shay and Drake finished their bowls. Satisfied, Bazil sat back, panting, sweating, but content. The color slowly started to seep from his face and the sweating ceased.

“I have never tasted such fine and exotic spices, Lady Shay. Truly I am blessed with your offering to this lowly knight,” Bazil said. “I am forever gracious for your extravagant offering. I expected a mere smattering of sweet herbs, a pinch of salt, and dash of black pepper, but you truly proved yourself to be a charitable host with such a generous gift of exotic spices.”

“You’re welcome. Pretty sure it’s mostly MSG,” she answered.

Shay reached into her tote and handed Sir Bazil the two containers of chicken ramen. He graciously accepted her gift.

“Here for your travels,” she said. “They’re not as spicy, but you will still enjoy them. Just add an egg, some shredded vegetables, and hot water.”

“Thank you, Lady Shay. I will always remember your kindness. I suppose then, dragon…Drake…I will take leave and search for my own glory in other domains,” Sir Bazil spoke, as he stood up from the table.

Drake waved his hand and with a loud thump and a clang, Bazil’s belongings fell onto the table. Then several large tubers rained onto the table, bouncing and rolling off onto the floor. Bazil picked up a large tuber and scowled. Shay was confused and poked at one of the tubers.

“Here are some provisions for the road… from my larder. And Shay, these are parsnips and neeps,” Drake answered. “While you may find them unappealing, Sir Bazil, so do the opossums. They’re quite durable and will sustain you during your travels. They’re delicious when properly cooked. They can be roasted, mashed, boiled, turned into a stew.”

“Thank you…Lord Drake, I will be sure to relish them,” Bazil said dryly, shoving the rutabagas and parsnips into his satchel. “I wish not to bother you, but could I have an onion or a few cloves of garlic for the road? To enhance…your gift.”

“Fine,” Drake said, snout buried in his book. He waved his hand in the air. A head of garlic, onions, celery, and carrots landed on the table with hearty thuds. “You’ll need a proper mirepoix.”

His satchel bulging and misshapen, Sir Bazil was led out the entrance, back into the forest.

In the darkening night, Bazil bowed to his benefactors. “Thank you again for your hospitality and kindness. I will never forget you, Lord Drake and Lady Shay.”

“You’re welcome, I will never forget you too, Sir Bazil. I wish you luck on your travels and adventures. I hope you find your glory,” Shay answered with curtsy.

Drake stood there, arms crossed, book in hand.

“Good luck your studies, Lady Shay,” Sir Bazil said.

He whistled loudly. From above there was a loud neigh. Then a pegasus landed down beside him. Its white hide and silver wings were a bright beacon in the stark, dark night. He patted the steed’s snout then mounted the beast. Shay watched with wide eyes.

“To new adventures! To the newest horizon, Cirrostratus!”

And into the night sky he flew, a small black speck in an ultramarine sky, dazzling with swirls and specks of white stars.

“He had a pegasus? I could have ridden a pegasus?” Shay said. “Do you have any idea how badly as a little girl I wanted to ride a pegasus? Or an alicorn?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Drake said dryly. “Those things cost an arm and leg to feed. You get a few minutes of flight out of several hours of grazing. Then don’t get me started on the droppings. They do it often, and rarely while grazing on the ground.”

As if on a cue, a loud steamy plop fell from the sky and struck the forest a few yards away from them. Shay recoiled.

Drake turned around to enter his home, while Shay looked into the sky and forest.

“Was it a bad idea to give him the ramen?” she asked, as the thought dawned on her. She turned and followed Drake. “I’m not going to cause an issue or shift in the temporal waves or something like that? I didn’t just introduce a foreign object into a delicate ecosystem, did I?”

“It will be fine,” Drake said. He stroked his chin, “I mean kingdoms have gone to war for less trivial things that a few seasoning packets. Then again, if wasn’t for wayward travelers, we would have never been introduced to potatoes.”

“That’s not very comforting,” Shay said. She paused, looking at her dragon friend. “Are you okay tonight, Drake? You seem…off.”

Drake paused. “I apologize, Shay. The Sentinel has been quite busy the past few weeks. I suppose after years of isolation…I need to acclimate to all the visitors.”

“Then I did come a bad time then. I’m sorry, Drake,” Shay said as they walked through the tunnels.

“Please do not fret over it, Shay,” Drake reassured, the book tucked under his arm. He returned to his warm conduct, “It’s nice to have someone visiting who is not nosy or self-absorbed…or trying to slay me. Would you like me to prepare a room for your studies?”

“Oh,” Shay said. “I didn’t come to study. I’m actually caught up. I came to hang out with you for a bit, just to share ramen with you. Give you a taste of college home cooking. Sometimes I get lonely, I can only imagine how lonely it has been for you.”

“Oh,” Drake said, caught off guard. “I appreciate it. I wish it was under less, hostile circumstances.”

“I probably should be heading back,” Shay admitted as she collected her belongings. “I’m not sure when my housemates will make it back home. I left some ramen for you to try. Gussy them up however you’d like. I’m sure you’ll get creative with it.”

“Thank you, Shay,” Drake said, picking up a cup. He set it down. “Let’s get you home.”

It was a quiet stroll to the stones. Drake was dressed in his heavy robe, Shay wrapped in a thick blanket. As they walked, Shay could not help looking at the sky. The sky was darker, fuller than her own night sky. Untouched by light pollution, rivers of stars, galaxies, planets were visible to the naked eye. Among the predominately white ribbons of stars, a twinkle of amber or rose, pearly peach or teal would pop. She could see al the craters, all the marks on the face of the moon. A meteorite would cut through the velvety darkness in a magenta slash before disappearing in a white flash.

She felt overwhelmed.

Endless universes of endless universes.

“Hey, Drake,” she said softly.

“Yes, Shay?” he said.

“Can we sit down for a little bit, and look at the sky?” she asked.

“Of course,” Drake said.

He brushed the snow and frost from a log. He sat down, and Shay sat down beside him, her face craned up to the night sky. The sea of star reflected in the lenses of her glasses.

“I’ll be…I’ll be going on a vacation for a week, so I won’t be around,” she admitted. “I’m not going to even going to think about school.”

“Hmm, you looking forward to it?” he asked.

“My friends want to rent a cabin out for the beginning of the week, then I’m going to spend the last few days with my family,” she said. “It’s going to be chaos. I hope I don’t wear myself out.”

“You can always come here if you need a break,” he said.

“Thanks, Drake. The night’s sky is so beautiful here, do you know any constellations? Do you think we share the same night sky, but in a different universe? The same planets and stars? Like maybe this a different version of earth, but with magic?”

“I don’t know, Shay,” Drake said. “Let’s see, that’s the Red Condor. There is Trisol. That massive cluster is called The Frog. Those clusters are the Silver Bells. There is The Citadel, Jerry the Cowboy, the Three Wisemen. That little grouping of three stars with the large one in the center is the One Eyed Demon. Oh, and Alan…the cowboy.”

“Hmm,” Shay said. “I haven’t heard any of those. I just know the Big Dipper…and the zodiac. I probably can’t point them out in the night sky. It’s beautiful. The sky doesn’t look like this back home.”

Shay looked upon the night sky, her eyes glittering in awe. She put her hand on Drake’s and smiled.

“It’s wonderful being here with you, Drake,” she said. “It’s nice to have one night of serenity before all the chaos of spring break and then finals.”

For several moments, they sat, watching the sky, counting shooting stars, and making up constellations.

Shay was in such awe and lost in the serenity of the cold night and the beauty of the night sky, she failed to notice the trepidation on Drake’s scaley visage.

Chapter Text

“I found some firewood that isn’t completely rotted or wet!” Shay said, arms filled.

“And it doesn’t have poison ivy growing on!” Darryl proudly added, following behind her. “No ER trips this year!”

“Oh good,” Kate said. “I thought we were going to live on chips and peanut butter sandwiches for the next four days. I really want to make mountains pies; I’ve been craving them.”

“Are we having the hotdogs and cheese ones, or the pizza pocket style ones?” Lennox asked, scrolling through their phone.

“I brought the stuff to make both! And picked up mushrooms and chorizo for ya Lenn,” Kate said, proudly holding up two bags of cheese; a bag of American singles and a blend of shredded Italian cheeses.

“Oh, hell yeah, Kate!” Lennox exclaimed. “Hey, guys you’ll never guess what I found on my way back home!”

Shay set the firewood down and stacked into dry in their small, rented cabin. The cabin was small with three rooms; a kitchen and bedroom with four beds, and a small bathroom with only a sink and toilet. There was a small covered “porch” which Darryl and Lennox and placed a coupe fold out chairs, a fire pit, and an outhouse for emergencies. It was all they needed. The expectation was to take full advantage of the season and explore the park, only returning to the cabin to recuperate and refuel.

Darryl neatly stacked his logs besides her. As Shay sorted their groceries and unpacked, Lennox dug through their tote, proudly showing of a glass bottle of soda.

“I found Stewart’s soda,” Lennox said.

“Did you get every flavor?” Kate asked, crunching on a chip.

“What I could. It was a cute little ma and pa shop,” Lennox answered. “Got a couple ‘artisan’ varieties to try out. Spicy ginger pear, dragonfruit slushy, tamarind. If you guys remember teaberry gum, I got a couple packs of that. So, what are we doing first?”

“We should probably wait for the firewood try dry out a little bit, but a hike sounds good. The ringing rocks are only about twenty-minute hike away,” Kate said, opening up a pamphlet. “Without the foliage we’ll be able to the pictographs better so that’s another hike. There’s also the waterfall the natural arch…you could probably get some great lake pictures Lennox, and there’s the eagle’s nest we can check out. There’s also the old mill, the abandoned coke ovens, the spring house, the effigy mounds, the fire tower...”

“Is it too early in the season for owl prowls?” Darryl asked. “I’d like to actually make it to one.”

“I don’t think they do those around this time of the year,” Kate said, scratching her chin.

“Nope, look right there, Owl Prowl starting at 8pm Friday and Saturday nights,” Lennox said, pointing at the pamphlet

Darryl pumped his fist in triumph.

“We’ll double check with the ranger’s station, and we’ll do that tonight,” Katie said. “You guys up for an owl prowl?”

“Sounds like fun,” Shay said. “We weren’t be out too late, will we?”

“Probably an hour or two; we could hit up that dinner for a late-night breakfast on our way back,” Katie answered. “I miss doing that with you guys—random late night breakfast trips.”

“Hashbrowns and gravy and bissscuiits,” Lennox said in a singsong voice.

“I was thinking about making hashbrowns one of these mornings,” Shay said, taking two large backing potatoes from her tote and one large yellow onion. “I even brought smoked paprika.”

“You brought actual potatoes?” Lennox asked, arms crossed

“Yes,” Shay answered. “We can wrap them in foil tonight, bake them in the fire, and I’ll fry them up tomorrow morning.”

“That’s probably the healthiest thing in the cabin,” Darryl said. “What made you think of that? I assumed we were just gonna veg out on junk food and trail mix.”

“I learned it in college,” she answered as she unpacked her groceries.

“Probably will go really good with leftover chorizo. My grandpap did something similar, called it a ‘poor man’s feast,” Lennox said. “Honestly, any leftover meat will work. We usually had it with canned corned beef…because that is all the man ate…that and diet coke and canned peas…”

“Let’s stop talking about food and make plans. We got four days out here,” Kate said. “Owl prowl tonight or tomorrow, we’ll ask the rangers. Pictographs or ringing rocks first?”

Shay continued to unpack as the discussion carried on. She could not quite explain what inspired her to bring potatoes and onions.

&&&

“Do you have anything low carb and low on the glycemic index? I am on a very, very particular diet, so low sodium, no added sugar, non-GMO, chemical free and trans-fat free. It has to be vegan, so no meat or cheese, but has to be high protein…preferably. Gluten and antibiotics are a no-go for my digestive system. And soy contains large amount of estrogen, so I have to have it in very, very limited amounts. It is a very, very strict died, and I need to adhere to it. Keto or low-carb diet, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

Drake poured his guest a glass of water and set it down in front of him. An hour earlier Drake found his visitor stumbling about, panicking on the trail over alien, interdimensional allergens, despite the snow on the ground. His guest, had apparentl, fallen through a time-portal in a house he hoped to purchase (a common feature in older houses Drake has learned over the passing years), while checking for black mold and the hantavirus.

He was frightened at the sight of Drake; more because of dander, mites, and salmonella, than Drake’s draconic nature. He refused the thick wool blanket on similar grounds along with the fear of an allergy to “lanolin” and bug infestation that could crawl and drill into his skin.

Using his magic, Drake ‘lit’ up and recleaned the blanket, but his guest still refused, questioning what light spectrum Drake’s spell used, white light or ultraviolet. And if was ultraviolet, why didn’t Drake warn him before using the spell?

The man would make an excellent witch hunter, but Drake held his tongue and kept his distance.

Once in the tunnels, his guest’s apprehensive behavior continued. What about soot from the torches? The dust? Where was the proper ventilation for the tunnel system? What filters did he use? Magic honed by ancient wizards with centuries of experience apparently was not the appropriate answer. Once Drake stoked the ashes of his stove, the concerns of carbon monoxide rose.

“Is this water charcoal filtered? Is it well water? Chlorinated? What’s your piping, is it lead or copper? How old is it?”

“Let me check,” Drake said, turned on his heels and walked into his pantry.

He closed the door then breathed in deeply, clenching his eyes shut. The silence of his pantry and the muted aromas of spices, herbs, and fruit calmed his nerves and cleared his mind for inspiration. Drake gathered up a waxy grey squash, a delectable, bumpy skin crook neck squash, coral blue oyster mushrooms, and an onion.

As his guest wiggled about on his seat, inspecting, scrutinizing, and flinching at every nook and cranny in the kitchen, Drake sliced and fried the vegetable in rice brain oil in a cast iron skillet. His guest asked if the skillet was BPA and Teflon free.

After an explanation from his guest, Drake reassured him that the cast iron pan was very much BPA and Teflon free, then his guest asked if the pan was made from copper or bronze as those can contain high amounts of lead and mercury. Drake explained the skillet was cast iron and made by a local blacksmith. The guest asked if Drake could check. Drake explained the skillet was almost two hundred years old, and the smith who casted it has since passed on.

The guest asked if Drake could check just in case.

Once a plate of stir-fried vegetables, flavored with garlic, black and white sesame seeds, and dried pepper flakes, was placed before him, his guest halted his fidgeting and prepared to eat.

Using the distraction and the silence, Drake turned to gather his cloak and staff when his guest spoke up again.

“Are these organic? Did they ripe naturally or with artificially with chemicals? What compost was used with the mushrooms? Straw, manure, or sawdust or foraged? These squash GMO? They look weird, are you certain that they weren’t genetically enhanced?”

“I think they’re heirloom.”

“Do you have the paperwork?”

Drake groaned.

After a few more hours and even more fidgeting and failed attempts to quash said apprehensions, they departed the Sentinel and ascended the mountainside to the runes. Alcohol had no effect on Drake, but after this little venture, he was going to drink. He had some fine vintage hidden away he was going to down and play fake the side-effects as a coping mechanism.

Halfway up the mountain, Drake heard the unmistakable click of a lighter and the harsh scent of tobacco. He turned to his guest. His guest stood there, with an unfiltered cigarette crushed between his lips.

He puffed in deeply, then removed the cigarette; clenching it between yellowed fingertips.

“What?”

&&&

“Anybody want some craisins?” Shay asked.

“Toss ‘em here,” Kate said, popping a handful of the wrinkled ruby-red jewels into her mouth before tossing the box back to Shay.

In offering, Shay shook the box for her other friends who declined her offer. Phone in hand, Darryl was taking pictures of a large bird nest, built high up in a tree by the lake. The previous night, they succeeded in calling a barred owl in the owl prowl. That morning after hashbrowns and chorizo, they bore witness to a courtship flight between a pair of cooper’s hawks in the field by their cabin.

Darryl always had a thing for birds of prey ever since he wrote a report on kestrels in grade school. He found them fascinating. The previous days adventures had sparked up his interest. His excitement was contagious. For a glum and cold…and wet…day, the group was cheerful and enthusiastic, ready to take on the gray day.

The noon sun dispelling the chill and frost, they set forth on their next adventure; the fire tower and old mill. Lennox wanted a few compelling panorama pictures, hoping to revisit the area every season for a collage. Both Lennox and Shay were excited to visit the old mill; Shay for the appreciation of old timey craftmanship, and Lennox for “creepy picture time”. They’ll take the long way back and stop by a small local museum and a ranger’s station with taxidermy of local animals and a few replicas. If time permitted, Kate wanted to stop at a few thrift shops and antique shops that night.

The promise of homegrown jams, jellies, and pickles was a lure, adding some ‘pizzazz’ to their mountain pies.

“Think it’s osprey or eagle?” he asked, enlarging the nest. “I think it’s abandoned.”

“Dunno, pretty cool though,” Lennox said. “I’m saying osprey. We’d probably see something about eagles nesting nearby.”

“I can just see the fire tower,” Kate said.

Across the lake, over a hillside, the tower of the fire tower loomed over the bare tree branches and grey hillsides.

“Creepy, gotta photoshop a cryptid in there when I get back to college,” Lennox said, taking a series of photos.

“You got your next creepypasta?” Kate asked.

“I’ll let you know,” Lennox said, flipping through their photos. “Hey, Darryl think I can get you hiding in the background of couple of these pics?”

“No,” Darryl said.

“Shay, Kate…”

“No.”

Photos and creepy ideas exchanged and considered, they continued their journey to the fire tower, following the trail along the lake.

Without the leaves or brush, the forest was open. Features, long buried under verdant shrub and bracken, fallen leaves or snow, were now exposed in the late winter/early spring weather: large stones, the foundations of centuries old buildings, massive, moss covered fallen logs, the skeletons of deer.

Around one bend, the steep hillside hugged the trail, whittling the trail down into a pathway a few feet wide. On one side there was the steep hill, slick a layer of slimy, leaves decomposing over defrosting mud. On the other side of the trail was the lake, black and cold.

As they made their way around the curve, they came across a set of black iron steps, fitted into the steep hillside. Lennox immediately took a few pictures.

“Has those always been here?” Lennox asked. “Or a recent edition?”

Out of curiosity, Kate went to climb the steps. Instinctively, Shay reached up and jerked Kate back by her backpack.

“Shay? What the hell?” Kate asked.

“Sorry,” Shay said, shaken out of her daze. “I don’t think those are safe. They don’t look properly imbedded.”

Kate placed her shoe on a step and shook it. Like a tooth, it wobbled. She stepped back. Looking up a few steps had been loosened and had started to slide down the muddy hillside in the defrosting ground and muck. Lennox snapped a picture.

“Thanks, Shay,” Kate said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to grab you like that, I don’t know what came over me,” Shay said.

“Sixth sense,” Lennox said, flicking through their roll. “Or too many creepy stories on the internet.”

“I had a weird gut feeling,” Shay admitted. The memory escaped her.

“Wait, there’s stories about stairs?” Darryl said. “Is nothing people won’t make a scary story about?”

“Where have you been the past ten years?” Lennox said, almost offended. The with a snicker said, “I gotta warn you about the stairs, bro.”

“I don’t hang out on your creepy-ass forums, Lenn” Darryl answered. “I didn’t think you listened to that stuff either, Shay.”

“I don’t,” Shay admitted, her mind slightly jumbled. “I heard from someone to avoid them.”

They continued walking as Lennox recapped a series of stair related stories. Shay kept turning to look back at the bend and the stairs, even when a good distance away.

Who told her about the stairs? She remembered it clearly. It was dark and at night, but the exact memory escaped her. She mulled and popped a few cranberries into her mouth and took a sip of water. Perhaps she fell asleep watching her usual shorts somehow ended up listening to a scary story video. Perhaps, the walk dredged up a long-buried memory, the shard, the exert from one of the myriads of scary stories she read back in grade school. Perhaps a childhood ghost story.

It bothered her the rest of the day, like a hair on her tongue or the few lyrics of a song she heard long ago, a barely recognizable congealed mass, begging to be dug out and exposed.

&&&

“So…you are telling me there’s multiple universes out there?”

“Yes.”

“So…like what do you know about them? Have you visited any of them? What can you tell me about them?” the girl asked. With large dark eyes, she looked at him intently all the while nibbling on her scone with rhubarb and strawberry jam.

She was a pleasant lass with a strong sense of both passion and rationality, fed by her devout consumption of fantasy literature—novels, manga, anime, and online fanfiction; consuming whatever she could lay her hands or eyes on.

She was enthused at ending up in a magical world, but was fully aware of the perils she could face in said magical world. With so many conflicting descriptions of fantasy creatures and their dispositions and how to handle them; she made the wise decision to stand back and wait until further judgement. It appeared she had no interest in being a participator in this fantasy…more of an observer, a stance Drake could appreciate.

She had come to his plane of existence after “frolicking” through a ring of mushrooms. She was fully aware of Mycelium growth and the creation of fairy circles. So, when she entered a circle, she assumed she’d be stepping outside of that circle into her own universe.

Throughout history, legends, and myth, there was always a link between fungi and the ley lines. Fungi’s odd nature, between animal and plant, gave it a propensity to ley line related chicaneries. It is possible, before the fay, fungi were the first to travel or attach to the ley lines; their spidery roots and fine tendrils drilling deep through soil and rot to anchor themselves to any local ley lines on occasion, as wizardly scholars surmised. Barring the fay and their ilk, fungi were one of the few organisms that could naturally adhere themselves to the ley lines. Coming across a fairy circle that was connected to the ley line was a scarcity, experienced rarely even by those in fay blessed lands.

Though, some folks opted to consume particular types of fungi for a similar and temporary effect without the inconvenience of leaving their plane of origin.

She was simultaneously excited and concerned with her current situation. Being in a fantasy world was a dream for her, but having no internet, no charger, and access to a computer to read and write was her nightmare. Family, schoolwork or friends could not drive her desire to return home, but the thought of falling behind in her consumption of the arts sent her into a panic.

Drake calmed her down, with the realization she will be returning home soon to her beloved entertainment, she happily partook in afternoon tea session with bacon and cheese sandwiches, a light vegetable soup and scones for dessert.

They bonded quickly over their love of literature. She had no books to offer Drake and was quite surprised at Drake’s knowledge with modern releases. She happily filled in any missing books or lore that Drake had missed in his limiting state.

“Unfortunately, my knowledge is what I gather from visitors such as yourself. I myself am not a traveler; I am a caretaker of both the Sentinel and any visitors,” Drake explained.

“So, you don’t know if the omegaverse is real or not?” she asked.

“The omegaverse?” he asked, sipping his tea. “No extraplanar traveler has mentioned such it to me during their visitations. It may also go by a different name.”

“I plan on writing on book based on it,” she said with a sip of tea. “I want to be an author.”

“I would love to hear about it. I have never had the opportunity to hear about a book in its infancy,” Drake said, sitting his cup down to listen. “Hopefully it will make its way to me.”

“I already have it outline and my bible for it is finished. My main character is a dark elf—jet black skin, silver-white hair, and has one amethyst eye and one aquamarine eye, and his name is Almythias Grimdark. He’s the result of an extramarital affair between the king of the dark elves and a very powerful sorceress, but he doesn’t know that, as he was raised by humans. They get murdered by forces drawn to his dark seer powers, so he’s trying to figure out his past and keeps getting visions which leads him to this man…he is drawn to him…who can speak to wolves and uses them to hunt. He is the last of a clan of ancient witch hunters…a seeker. He can sense magic, and his name is Koga Blackmoon of the Sablesword Clan, but his hunter name is the “Silent Wraith”. His clan was also wiped out by the dark forces who killed Almythias’s adopted parents, and he’s left with a huge scar, and doesn’t trust anyone, especially the dark elves,” she explained excitedly. “I’m getting a head of myself. Let me explain the omegaverse first.”

&&&

“Does the sky seem weird to you?” Shay asked, looking up from the fire pit. “It seems weird…empty.”

“I never really looked up at the sky, seems like the same old sky to me,” Kate said, looking up. “Would we notice if something was off?”

“Are you okay, Shay? You’ve been distracted all the entire time,” Darryl said, flipping his toast Hawaii mountain pie.

It was their final night, and in attempt to use up all their supplies, Kate created the abomination of “toast Hawaii mountain pie”; a creation of ham lunchmeat, sliced cheese, a pineapple ring, and dollop of cherry pie filling in the center of the pineapple ring, another slice of bread, and cooked in the mountain pie makers over an open fire. With her creation, Kate took pride in offending Italians, Germans, Hawaiians and any human being of sensible bearing.

The sandwiches weren’t too bad. As a college student, Shay had eaten far more “creative” options when it came to meal prep. Pizza made on toaster pastries, tortillas, or graham crackers; ramen ‘hotdogs’ minus the hotdogs served on buns with mustard, processed cheese, and relish came to mind. She sensibly declined the addition of the cherry pie filling. While Darryl and Lennox decided to add to the chaos and included siracha ketchup to their pies hoping that the ‘heat’ would advantageously mix in with the sweet and the salty.

“I’m not sure,” Shay answered, still looking up. She looked back at her friends. “I think…I think school’s getting to me, maybe I’m experiencing burnout. Ever feel like you forgot to do something? Did I forget to turn in a paper?”

“You are an engineer. That probably does a number on your head. Number blindness is a real thing,” Kate, an accounting major, added. “I can’t imagine remembering formulas.”

“I’ve been so busy, maybe I forgot what it’s like to not be doing anything,” Shay admitted. When was the last time she had relaxed?

“You never really said what you wanted to do this trip,” Kate said. “You just agreed to everything. What do you suggest we do next? We’ve seen everything the park has to offer.”

“Hmm,” Shay thought. She looked up at the sky and thought.

She thought the sky used to be brighter, more colorful, more vibrant with swirling galaxies and nebulas, the band of the Milky Way more present. Dammit, maybe she’s regressing mentally, and what she is thinking about is a vision of space created by computers and depicted on an IMAX screen. When was the last time she was in an IMAX theatre? School probably.

Her thoughts drifted to school memories, something more tangible. A thought crossed her mind.

“Do you want to play laser tag or mini golf? Something along the lines of that. I really miss when we would just go do random things. I had a lot fun this trip, but I think I need something exciting. Maybe that is what I’m missing. We could probably find something on our way home.”

“I think I saw an advertisement for glow bowling,” Kate said, checking her phone. “It just got dark; what do you think about glow bowling? Regular bowling is just as good.”

Shay lit up, the haze and fog of the passing days immediately disappeared in a flash of neon lights and lasers, and more smoke, created from a smoke machine that foggy passage of time and memory.

“I want to go bowling,” she admitted with growing excitement. “I want nachos, cheap, greasy nachos with cheap, pickled jalapeños, sour cream, and forty-percent vegetable protein ground taco meat.”

Darryl took a huge bite out of his mountain pie. He made a disgusted face and swallowed. Listening, he held his pie to his lips, waiting.

“I’m not going to say no to late night mozzarella sticks,” Lennox admitted. “And blacklights.”

“Think we’re presentable enough to go bowling?”

“Who cares? It’s gonna be dark anyway.”

Darryl tossed the remains of his sandwich into the firepit. Sparkling orange ashes shot up like fireflies.

“Let’s go!”

&&&

“You’re a shapeshifter.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“I mean in most works of fiction, dragons are shapeshifters. Zmei and Verechelen dragons are known shape shifters. Lóng were known shape shifters as well. Melusine is sometimes is described as draconic in nature as opposed to mermaid or lamia. I’ve heard of myths of dragons take the forms of ravens and fresh water springs. In many legends, dragons are transformed snakes like the Lambton Worm. Many modern depictions of dragon, they posse some sort of camouflage reflex like in Dragon Heart or Dragons a Modern Infestation. I think it just makes sense that shape shifting capabilities exist in dragons.”

“I guess you are correct, I do posse a shapeshifting ability, albeit a limited one. Given my cursed nature, I am not as fully capable as an actual dragon.”

“Cool…cool…so can you get pregnant? Or is it like Ranma ½ pregnancy scenario, like there’s no real answers?”

&&&

“Think frozen corn on the cob will make it back to campus?” Shay’s mother asked as she dug through their family deep freezer. She held up a pack of six, vacuum packed ears of corn.

She had three Aldi’s totes packed with food; bulk crackers, canned soup, boxes of Shay’s favorite cereal, bags of knockoffs of her favorite cereal, jars of homemade salsa, body wash she bought on sale, new towels, face wipes, and other odds and ends she had collected during Shay’s absence.

After camping from Friday night to Tuesday morning, Shay had returned home to spend the rest of her spring break. The plan was to make a spaghetti bake with extra cheese and garlic, sit in her room, live off said spaghetti bake, watch episodes of Nova, and study. She did get to make her spaghetti bake, but lived off it between trips. She managed one and half episodes of Nova her first night home.

See the grandparents, the washer broke, find a washer, install the new washer, cousin’s birthday, dispose of the old washer, a family dinner, brother has a soccer game then pizza party, Costco run, Sam’s Club run, grandparents want to take her out to dinner at a new restaurant, thrifting with Kate, replacing the tires on her car and getting an oil change. She had plenty to do except rest.

“I’ll pack it the loaves of bread, hopefully they’ll keep each other frozen for the trip,” Shay said, hefting a bag to the car.

“I’ll throw some frozen baggies of mixed veggies in,” her mother answered before topping the bag with three bags of vegetables. “Just make soup when you back to school. I’ll throw some bouillon and egg noodles in. Do you need meat? I think I still have frozen turkey and ham somewhere in the freezer.”

“Mom, I’ve got more than enough food,” Shay answered. “I’m only going to be at school for a few more months, then I’ll be back home. You don’t want me bringing all that stuff back.”

“Your housemates need to eat too. I thought you were going to try to get on some engineering projects this summer? Isn’t your school offering any?” her mother asked, wielding an overloaded bag like a ball and chain.

“I’ve looked into a couple and applied,” Shay answered. “I’m waiting to hear back. There are limited slots.”

Shay hefted a bag and tossed it into the back of her car. Her mother struggled to lift another bag. Shay was quick to assist her.

“Oh! I also grabbed some books for you,” her mother said, letting go of the bag. She turned and rushed back to the house.

“Books?” Shay asked, confused.

“You mentioned you were hunting down old books for a school project? Or charity, I can’t remember what you said, but you mentioned you were collecting books for something or someone,” her mom said, stopping. “I’ve got you an entire box of books from the library. Encyclopedias and old copies of books mostly; you said you didn’t want any children’s books.”

Shay was mid-lift. She set the bag down and leaned against her car.

“Oh yeah, I was, I can’t remember why though,” she said, scratching her forehead.

“Shay, are you okay?” her mom asked, rushing back.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said. “I think school and work is getting to me.”

“You should have just stayed home and rested this week,” her mother said, holding onto her forearm. She paused. “Maybe we shouldn’t have dragged you everywhere. I’m sorry, Shay.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I did want to go to Cosco. I wasn’t expecting to stay home and watch Nova the whole time. I’ll have all summer to do that if I can’t get into any of the projects,” she answered. “Who am I kidding? I’ll find a job this summer.”

“You don’t have to. You can stay and maybe help your grandparents out on the farm if you’re looking for something to do,” her mother offered.

“I’ll see how I feel after finals,” Shay said. “I’ve got a few months to figure out what I’m doing this summer. It’s nice to have options, thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she said. “Do you still want those books? I can donate them to the local nursing home library if you don’t.”

“No, no,” she said, looking at the gravel driveway. “I know I need them for something important. I think one of my roommates is collecting them.”

Her mom returned to the house. After several minutes, she returned with a cardboard box. She set it down in the back of Shay’s car, then removed a bottle of migraine medication. She handed the bottle to Shay.

“I bought spares,” she explained.

“Thanks, Mom,” Shay said, tucking the bottle into her purse.

They hugged tightly.

“Be careful,” her mother said.

“I’ll text as soon as I get back. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Shay.”

Shay closed the trunk to her car and jumped into the front seat. Rolling down her window, she waved to her mother. Her mother stood in the driveway watching her leave, only returning to her house when Shay’s vehicle was out of sight.

Shay kept looking back through her rearview mirror at the box of books, rattling and thumping on the bumpy road. Once she hit the main highway, the thumping subsided.

Still, she could not help looking back, unable to shake that odd feeling.

&&&

Grumbling, Drake entered his personal quarters. His personal den was dim save for a glowing amber lantern. He hung up his cloak and tossed his staff against the wall. It rattled and fell against the ground. Grumbling louder, Drake leaned over to pick it up.

“Good evening, Prince Drake the Cursed, firstborn son of Queen Ophelia.”

“GAH!” Drake exclaimed and jumped, head and horns lowered. Smoke dissipated from his wide nostrils. The staff fell against the floor with a rattle.

The light returned the room. Sitting on one of his chaise lounges, feet propped up on a table, was a stereotypical wizard. He was dressed in dun colored clothing, a long robe with long sleeves, a pointed hat. His clothing was decorated in braided ropes, lenses, trinkets based on the wings of insects, and keys. His own staff, a silvery-grey, beautifully worn wooden staff, sat beside him. It too was decorated with braided rope and ribbons from which trinkets—magnifying glasses, lenses, more wings, and keys hung from.

Without a coaster, a steaming cup of coffee sat on the table. On the wizard’s lap was a plate of partially eaten bread pudding.

Drake did not speak, instead he stared down at his companion, his broad arms across his chest. He snorted and glared.

“And King Kaleleaf,” the wizard finally answered, “Your pudding’s dry; you should have made a sauce.”

“That isn’t yours, Bill,” Drake said as the wizard sat the plate down and stood up. “It’s also old.”

“Good to see you’re up and about and not sleeping.”

Ignoring the vexed dragonman, the wizard picked up his staff and walked past Drake to a wall of miniature castles, bridges, and towers. He examined the models with mock curiosity. Drake took the opportunity to move the mug onto an agate coaster.

“Why are you here, Bill?” Drake asked. “I’ve had more than enough unwanted visitors this week, no need to cave to peer pressure and jump on the bandwagon.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” he answered, then held up a finger. “I am called Anthomyius of the Castle Wall. I’d advise referring to me as that.”

“I’m only returning the courtesy I was given,” Drake said dryly, collecting the wizard’s dishes. “Why are you here, Antie?”

The wizard’s attention returned to the models. He tapped his chin. He turned on his heels, under Drake’s burning gaze and examined several fishing poles, mounted and hanging on the stone walls.

“I’m surprised you still hold onto these little tchotchkes,” the wizard said, reaching out to a model of a stone bridge. “Your mother did love playing house. Played house with anybody she came across. She loved her stories too, quite a storyteller that one.”

“Don’t touch them,” Drake snarled. “And don’t you dare badmouth her. You have no right speaking ill of her. She actually did something. You stayed in your tower and just watched.”

“I am a wizard,” Anthomyius said. “My alliance is with magic. You don’t want a world where magic is used in warfare, trust me. I can’t wrap myself up in every little spat and brawl that royalty loves involving themselves in every few decades. It muddies things up and gets tiring. Kingdoms always need wizards, and kingdoms always come under new management. In the end, I will always be employed.”

“A little spat?” Drake said. “A little spat? The war went on for almost seventy-five years and involved dozens of kingdoms! Fields and forests burned. Thousands of innocent people died from battle, starvation, and illness. All the while you just sat in your tower with your magic.”

“A mere drop in the bucket of life,” the wizard said. “Your mother could have stayed out of it. She was given the opportunity. The lass was so far removed from the throne, she could have just run away and no one would have noticed or cared. She just loved her stories, and had to make one of her own, I guess. I suppose she was just a romantic. You are too… that is something you did get from your mother.”

“Don’t belittle my mother in front of me. She was not perfect, none of us are, but she did what she could,” Drake said, growling. “She was a loving mother and wife and a great queen. She stepped in, when you wouldn’t. She ended the war, brought peace and prosperity that still lasts to this day.”

The wizard rolled his eyes and walked around the den. He stopped at a box of books and began to pick through the box, before picking up a particular stack of papers. Drake quickly seized the box from the wizard and pulled the paper from his hands. Unperturbed, Anthomyius strolled away.

“I know you didn’t come here to just insult me and dredge up old grievances,” Drake snapped. “So why are you here?”

“The Enclave contacted me,” Anthomyius said, “There has been a surge in activity from The Sentinel. They assumed Truckkun the Unstoppable had escaped containment and was running amok. He is still retained, so I was sent here to investigate, since apparently, I am your closest associate.’

Drake sneered.

“I’ve had many visitors,” Drake answered, shifting the box on his hip. “With thrifting and urban exploration on the rise, it should not be a surprise when someone tumbles down a magical rabbit hole or someone’s little trinket turns out to be the doorknob to an unknown dimension.”

“I see you’re still feeding them and holding your little tea parties,” the wizard stated. “You’re supposed to collect them and drag them back to the runes and send them home as soon as possible. This isn’t the castle, no need to hold a feast in honor of their arrival and departure.”

“No need to traumatize more than they already are,” Drake answered, setting the crate down.

“They’re going to forget. We can’t have these fools constantly returning and messing about,” Anthomyius answered, trying to peek into the crate. “If you’re that bloody lonely, have you considered getting a pet…perhaps a cat?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Drake snapped; ears lowered.

The wizard chuckled. Drake collected himself.

“Still got that thing with cats?”

Collecting himself and ignoring the wizard, Drake huffed, picked up the crate again and placed it far out of sight of Anthomyius. Grumbling, Drake set forth cleaning up the wizard’s mess.

Since his birth and as the only dragonman in the court, Drake had many emotions directed towards him. Awe. Fear. Hatred. Admiration. Trepidation. Devotion. He learned quickly how handle people with grace, poise, and wit. Calm words and encouragement for the frightened. Discipline and restraint for the angry and hateful. Appreciation for respect. A sly, witty remark or comment when all else fails.

In his lifetime and with his skills, Drake had faced nary a lengthy disagreement.

Except for Anthomyius.

Anthomyius…he was dismissive to Drake. No hatred, no anger, just complete disregard for Drake and his being. And Drake never did figure out how to handle that damn wizard. The wizard got under Drake’s skin and scales in all sorts of ways.

Drake had not found the way to return the favor the wizard. The wizard had more worldly knowledge and experience that Drake, even with his age and social standing. Also, unlike Drake or any member of his family, Anthomyius was naturally grating and could and would drop any manners or pleasantries without any hesitation.

How the wizard managed to not get executed or exiled over all these centuries was a miracle to Drake. He like a bloody cockroach, completely indestructible. Or maybe a wolf spider---step on him then suddenly be swarmed with millions up on millions of miniature, baby Anthomyiuses.

Over all these years…these decades and centuries…their relationship remained rocky. In fact, it had gotten worse. Anthomyius, like a fly to honey, had a tendency of popping into Drake’s life at the most inconvenient of times. Drake’s family had passed…and he was stuck with that wizard as his only link to a life long gone.

“What’s the point if I feed them before they forget? I send them home in the end, that’s my job. I’ve been doing it for centuries,” Drake answered. “You’re not the guardian here. Maybe I should just move back into the castle if I’m doing such an awful job.”

“Oh, what are you going to do there? You going to go back to throwing banquets? Acting as an ambassador? Go back to having trysts? Or sleep for decades waiting for someone to wake you up to double check pronunciation or translation?” Anthomyius answered.

Drake growled; his hackles raised. The wizard, once again, was unperturbed.

“I’ve done plenty for my country. I opened up trade and formed alliances with many lands,” Drake said. “I’ve done more for the kingdom than you ever did.”

Anthomyius sat back down on couch and picked up the mug of cooled coffee. He ran his hand over it, “Drake, I did you favor. If you’re that lonely, I suppose I could contact the elders of the village have them send you up a few villagers to play checkers or drink tea with you.”

“Don’t do that,” Drake said. “Last time you did that I found four terrified lasses tied up and staked out on my front lawn for who knows how many hours. We were all left fairly traumatized after that experience. No amount of explanation and apologies was going to make it better. I can only imagine how that story has transformed over the years.”

Anthomyius pulled a book from between the cushions of the lounge. It was a pocket book of trees on the eastern coast of the United States. It was bequeathed to Drake by a thankful hiker who after experiencing a fugue in a nation park, likely from encountering a conference of shadow people, had passed into Drake’s realm.

Shadow folk, introverted entities of the ley lines, loved their solitude and peace—often sought out areas that reflected their disposition for congregation and reflection. They had a nasty habit of stalking behind any interlopers in their domain, causing madness and paranoia. Drake’s guest was more than happy to regain his bearings in Drake’s caves under the dragonman’s watchful eyes than upon the dozens upon dozens of catlike eyes of the shadow people.

“You’re still bumming literature off of interdimensional travelers?” he said in a bored tone.

“Does it matter? It’s nothing that posses any magical capabilities. I’m quite certain you don’t care about the invasion of non-native autumn olive trees.”

Drake snatched the book away from the wizard. He held it close to his chest, protecting it.

“So why else are you here?” Drake asked. “You mentioned you had a few reasons to be here. So let me hear them, and then you can go piss off back to your tower.”

“Aw, yes,” the wizard said, sipping his coffee, then setting the mug down again, without a coaster. “Let me think of the word to use that is appropriate for the situation…what terminology have I heard the younger generation using, something you’d understand since you seem quite obsessed with these travelers…”

The wizard tapped his chin as Drake, hands on his hips watched him with growing fury.

“There are rumors that your sperm donor woke up.”

Drake gagged. “Why can’t you just speak in riddles or questions or nonsense like a normal wizard, Antie? I’d rather you’d speak like that that trying to keeping up whatever hip lexicon your scrying bowl comes across.”

“Fine then,” the wizard responded. “Your sire has woken up from his latest nap. And as you know, one of the first things The Great Maelstrom does is seek out and check up on his only surviving scion. You don’t seem that surprised. Usually, you get a tad more pissed when I remind you about your dear old—”

“A young knight came here spouting about fighting a dragon,” Drake said, cutting off the wizard. “I assumed he had woken up. So, you’ve wasted your time if you came here to rustle my jimmies.”

“I don’t know why you think so poorly of your only surviving parent,” Anthomyius said. “He’s just worried about his little boy—"

The book, once cradled in Drake’s arms, crashed into the wall near the wizard’s head.

“A tantrum? Really now, Prince Drake?” the wizard responded nonchalantly. With a wave his hand, the tattered book levitated up from behind the lounge and then gently sat on the table. Fists clenched, nostrils flared, and hackles raised, Drake watched him with reddening eyes.

“Would you stop defiling my father’s memory?” Drake snarled. “That thing out there did not raise me. He was not there for me. He did not love me like my father did. My true father passed away years ago. I held his hand. He did not let go until he died. That man, that king, was my dad.”

The wizard drank the last of his coffee. “Your father was a farmer. I’m sure he knew basic animal husbandry. He was a simple man, but not a stupid man. At some point during your many fishing outings, he probably sat there, looking down at this…his…scaley little boy, this little dragon boy, and reflected on basic math…like why was this odd little child fully formed after six months? Maybe he raised you out of respect and love for your mother…maybe fear…he didn’t slay that particular dragon after all, it was still out there quite alive and quite dangerous…or maybe he was in on the whole thing.”

Drake snorted, arms crossed. “Can you leave now? You delivered your messages; points have been made. I’d rather listen to another seminar about male cloacae than listen to any more of your dribble.”

“Fine,” the wizard said setting his cup down. “Glad to hear that you are living your life to the fullest, great Prince Drake.”

Anthomyius walked to the door. He stood in the doorway and tapped his staff on the floor. Hackles still raised and staying silent, Drake collected his book and began to fix the pages and cover.

“Good night, Prince Drake,” he said. “An excellent host in good humor as always. Hopefully that Janus cat won’t be bothering your dreams tonight.”

The door slammed shut. Anthomyius’s footsteps and staff rapping echoed down the hallway into nothing.

Staring at his mother’s miniatures, but in reality, focusing on nothing, Drake stood there for a very, very long time.

&&&

It was dusk when Shay pulled into the driveway of her rented house. Lisa’s car was parked in the driveway, but no lights were on. At her boyfriends or work, Shay immediately assumed.

Shay did not welcome the solitude. She felt a deep, primal need to talk to someone, to be in the close proximity of someone. Just a voice, a presence. It was lonely quiet trip back here in a car by herself on long stretches of roads, to a currently quiet campus where many were bedding down after an exhausting spring break and setting up preparations to survive the remainder of the semester.

Shay texted her mother that she had arrived to campus. Immediately, she received a smiley face and a goodnight. No need to keep her mother up, she needed her sleep. Shay tucked her phone into her hoodie pocket.

Hefting the heavy tote of frozen, quickly defrosting groceries, Shay struggled to the front door. She unlocked the door to a dark house and dragged in the tote. Quickly she loaded up the freezer and fridge before returning to her car.

She looked at the box of books in her trunk. Maybe it was a mistake to lug those up to campus. Pulling the last tote from the car, she gave the box one final look before closing the trunk. She needed to remember why she wanted those books, or they were going sit in the back of her car for the next two months, gathering dust and fading from the sunlight.

At the foot of the stairs, Shay left her hamper and backpack. Taking advantage of her solicitude, she went to the kitchen. She cleaned out the fridge, tossing out leftovers forgotten over spring break and packed the nonperishable goods into the cupboards. After taking the trash to the dumpster, she helped herself to a cherry-limeade soda and heated up a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Ideal grazing food for the night.

She didn’t feel like cooking anything, nor was she particularly hungry. The drive back to campus and the serenity of the approaching night did not quell her muddled mind. Time to get a bit mindless. A hot shower, checking a few things on line, maybe message a few of her coworkers, or talk to any of her housemates when they arrive home, then to bed. It should ground her. Maybe once she’s settled, she’ll run to the corner gas station. For what? She didn’t know. Maybe just some human interaction and something peanut butter flavored.

Shoving her backpack into the hamper and carefully holding her drink and snack in the other, she ascended the steps to her room. Shay flicked on the light to her room. She dragged in the hamper, setting it by her door. She’ll put her clothes away, snack, and listen to some music while doing so. Maybe if she’s feeling up to it, she’ll try and make that soup.

Many things she could do, and she didn’t want to be do any of them. Sigh.

She set the popcorn and soda onto her dresser before pulling her backpack from the hamper. She removed her laptop and went to set it on her desk to charge it.

Sitting on her desk, right where, she left it, was the tome. Shay nearly dropped her laptop onto her floor. Caves and torches, the smell of spice and smoke, icy ground and sparking night skies flooded her mind.

Drake!

How could she forget Drake?

The books! He was who the books were for!

A sudden burst of anxiety and horror rose up from her stomach. Her muddled mind transformed into one ripe with guilt.

She nearly picked up the book right then and there. She gathered herself, shut the door to her room, and slipped on a pair of crocs.

She looked outside, at the dusky sky and the glow of streetlights. Was it too late to visit Drake? She looked down at the book, biting her bottom lip. Maybe she should run out to her car and grab those books. She was too stressed, too uneased to race outside and snag a coup of books.

All she could feel was worry.

Shay slid her finger across the pages, and she was gone.

&&&

Shay struck the frozen, knocking the wind out of her. Holding her stomach, she pulled herself up. Gasping, she leaned on the sign, clutching her aching stomach and ribs.

The sky was darker here than back home comprised of deep shade of navy blue and indigo bespeckled with pearly stars. Holding onto her stomach, she rang the bell. The trees lit up with blue light. She sprinted down the pathway, racing the lights to The Sentinal.

She could hear the heavy, wooden door open. She could see the amber glow of The Sentinel torches and even smell the drink Drake had brewed himself.

Before she could make it to the glowing front door and the black silhouette of the dragonman, Shay took a tumble on the frosty ground. She slid and tumbled several feet.

Drake dropped his mug and rushed to help her.

“Shay? What’s gotten into you?” he said, helping her up, dusting the frost and dirt from her shoulders. He observed, “You’re bleeding, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped her up to her feet and helped her to the front door. He left his still steaming mug of tea in the snow. Shay was bruised and out of breath. Her mind was a new muddled mess, not one searching for a memory or thought, but one trying to sort through dozens of them.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, closing the door behind them. “You seem riled up.”

“I…I…I am,” Shay answered quickly. “I had the weirdest week. I couldn’t think straight. Everything kept nagging at me…I couldn’t remember anything. I kept getting distracted…”

“Let’s take care of you first and let you gather up your thoughts,” Drake said. “You can tell me all about your week.”

Drake’s voice was soft and warm…there was an odd hoarseness to it. He sounded drained. Over his clothing, he wore a heavy gray robe that dragged on the ground. His shirt was untucked and his pants were faded, looser, appearing more like a beloved pair of sweatpants than his typical breeches. He was covered in crumbs. The sight of him proved Shay’s gut instincts correct.

In the kitchen, Drake brewed them passionflower tea as he tended to Shay’s cut finger and scraped knees. He sat out a plate of crackers, cheese, and sliced apples to share.

“That’s a deep cut,” Drake observed, cleaning out the cut. “Did you slice yourself on a knife?”

“I think I cut a little too deep on the book pages, I guess,” Shay admitted as Drake bandaged her finger.

“You don’t need to cut yourself every time you use the relic,” Drake said, cleaning out her scuffed knees. “Saliva also suffices when you don’t want to bleed.”

Shay thought for a moment about licking the pages of a book. It would be like sticking a dollar bill in her mouth. Then the thought of slicing her tongue on a gilded page sent a shiver of horror up her spine.

“I think I might just stick to my fingers.”

“You don’t have to lick it. Just lick your finger and run it on the edge,” Drake said, focused on her knee. “Should be more than enough to activate the relic.”

“Oh.”

Drake ran his palm over her knees, drawing the torn fabric of her jeans together and patching up her clothing. He stood up.

“So why did you come running down the hill like a madwoman?” Drake asked, packing up his kit.

“I forgot,” Shay answered.

“Forgot?” Drake asked incredulously.

“No, I mean forgot, I literally forgot about you and The Sentinal,” Shay answered. “I forgot it ever happened. The entire week it just felt like there was something…something I had forgotten. It was driving me nuts. Then I got back to my room and saw the book, and I remembered everything.”

Drake was quiet. He breathed out deeply, his gaze pointed downward. He placed the kit in the cupboard.

“It’s a side effect of the relic,” Drake spoke up, shutting the cupboard door. “Once you’re out of its reach, you are out of its influence. You will forget. Everyone will eventually forget. Why do think it’s not common knowledge in your world that you can travel to different dimensions? You know if that was the case we’d be colonized by now.”

Shay looked at her repaired pants then at the floor. “Oh…I never really thought about it.”

Drake’s voice softened. “Some relics, it’s a failsafe when they are lost. In other cases, in worlds lacking in magic, where the ley lines wane, the relics’ scope is only so strong.”

“What?” Shay exclaimed. She felt her heart drop. “I’ll forget everything, like it never happened?”

Drake poured two cups of tea. Head down, he handed a mug to Shay and sat across from her.

“Not everything, but you’ll forget most of it. It is comparable to having a dream. You’ll remember some things, what you learned, your feelings, maybe an odd piece of artwork, a voice,” Drake continued sullenly. “You’ll never remember where. Was it a dream? A hazy childhood memory? It will nothing more than ghost. Maybe it will inspire you, comfort your darkest moments, but it won’t be gone.”

“I…I don’t know if I could deal with that,” Shay said. “I’d be going crazy. I don’t think I could forget about you, Drake.”

“If you still have the book in your possession, you still will be able to visit,” Drake answered. “Have some cheese and crackers.”

Shay sat her cup down and tapped her nails on the table. “The semester is ending soon; I’ll be leaving campus. I forgot about this place in a day! What about over summer? I’ll completely forget!”

“Do you still have the book?” Drake asked.

“Yes,” Shay answered, completely frazzled.

“Then you can keep visiting me,” he said. “You are always welcomed here to study. Please, have some crackers, drink some tea with me.”

He pushed the plate to her. “Don’t worry about what you are going to lose. Enjoy what you have while you have it. Take it from me.”

Despondently, Shay picked up a cracked pepper water cracker. She snapped it in half before popping a piece into her mouth. The black pepper burnt, but it had no flavor. It felt like chalk in her mouth and went down like clay. Even her sip of tea had no flavor, just tepidness.

Drake sipped his tea. He looked into his cup, “Consider it a blessing, Shay.”

“I don’t think that’s a blessing, Drake,” Shay said, her voice breaking.

“You are blessed to forget,” Drake answered. “I’m doomed to always remember.”