Cora and the Nurse Dragon Page 3

“It’s a long story.”

  Rising, he ruffled her hair. “I’m starving. How about you?”

  She nodded, even though her stomach felt like a rock had settled within it.

  “I’ll go to the manor house and see if Cook has anything for us. I’ll meet you at home, and you can tell me your long story over dinner. Make sure you close up when you leave. Can’t have the rabbits getting in and going after the sprouts.”

  She watched him leave. A gray shape jumped off one the tables and strolled down the greenhouse’s aisle towards her.

  “Hey, Scraggles.” Cora scooped the old cat up in her arms. The animal gave a throaty purr and nosed her face. She laughed. Scraggles was supposed to keep the mice out of the grass seed, but mostly he just napped nowadays. Perhaps he wasn’t a striker or a steamer, but he was good for hugs.

  Putting Scraggles down, she checked to make sure the lids of her terrariums were secured. Scraggles had once eaten a couple of her mayflies, his natural hunting instinct, she supposed, but it still took her a month to forgive him.

  The dragons danced in their tanks, the setting sun glinting off their scales.

  “You don’t look too unhappy,” she whispered. “Dad might know plants, but I know dragons.”

  Chapter Five

  Hatch a Plan

  Cora shifted her book-bag onto her other shoulder, focusing on the blue sky overhead. One wispy, white cloud looked a bit like an elongated dragon.

  “Look at that cloud.” She pointed.

  Abry squinted. “Oh yeah. It’s a puppy.”

  “No, it’s a dragon.” Cora scoffed.

  Abry laughed. “You see dragons everywhere, Cor.” She skipped down the sidewalk. “I’m so glad school’s out. I’m going to have so much more time for the stuff I want to do: reading and writing poetry and … oh, playing with you of course.”

  “Aren’t we a little old for playing now?” Cora frowned.

  Abry stopped skipping. “You think? I mean … what do you think we should be doing instead? Getting jobs?”

  Cora chewed on her bottom lip. Dad had meant it to sound like a bad thing, that he was working by her age, but to Cora work sounded much more appealing than sitting at a desk, writing essays and memorizing rules.

  “Maybe. I mean, we’ve tried to earn money before, but it was always with cutesy kid stuff. People gave us money because we were little, not because they wanted our awful lemonade.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.” Abry started walking again.

  “Even the batch you used salt instead of sugar for?” Cora raised an eyebrow.

  Abry wrinkled her nose. “We only sold one cup of that, though. The rest was okay.”

  They passed the first row of houses. Abry’s mouth pinched like it always did when she was thinking. “If we do work, we’re old enough to take it seriously … and we’d need a plan … and accounting books. My mom’s law office has a ton of books with notes for cases and expenses. She says records can save your tush. She has some books on business law. I’ll look them up when we get home.”

  Cora swallowed her objections. Business law? Record books? It sounded like school. Still, pressuring Abry to move faster never did any good.

  I’ll let her chew on it for a few days, and she’ll probably pop back up with one of her ideas, all plotted out and ready for me to do the interesting part.

  They reached the entrance to the Avenue and paused. For the last week, they’d taken the long way home, not wanting to revisit the scene of Xavian’s atrocity.

  Now they stood, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the purple shadows.

  “So the egg …” Abry cleared her throat.

  Cora shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll give it a few more days.” She’d never had an egg take more than three or four. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to toss out the lone survivor.

  Abry glanced over her shoulder. “I really want to catch Mom before she locks up her office for the weekend. Do you want me to walk you through the Avenue?”

  “Nah, I’m okay. It’s not like it’s haunted.”

  “Oh … baby ghost dragons would be a great theme for a poem.” Abry practically squealed.

  Cora narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Seriously?”

  “Sorry, just a thought, but it would, so tragic and metaphorical. They could represent lost innocence or memories or dreams. So much potential subtext.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. Their teacher loved it when Abry talked like a book. Cora had learned to tolerate it.

  “Why don’t you come over tomorrow?” Abry asked. “I finally have enough pocket money for the ten-count egg set. I’d like to hatch them at your place, though. I only have the one terrarium, and Neptune gets jealous if I spend too much time with the mayflies.”

  “Sure. I can help you keep them alive longer if you want.”

  “Oh, that would be nifty. Mom says I can’t put any more tombstones in the flower beds, says it’s starting to look like a tiny graveyard. That was kind of the point, but you know mothers.”

  “Yeah.” Cora really didn’t, but no point in making Abry feel bad about that. If I buried all my mayflies that way, there wouldn’t be any room left in the yard for plants.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Abry loped away on her skinny legs, her book bag bouncing against her hip.

  Cora drew a deep breath and sprinted through the Avenue.

  She went straight to the greenhouse, dumping her book bag on her tool shelf and kicking off her uncomfortable school shoes. Scraggles lay on top of her extra coveralls.

  “Get up, Scraggles.” She prodded him with her toes. Scraggles yawned, stretched, and lay back down. He gazed at her with a bored expression. She yanked the coveralls out from under him, sending him rolling across the floor.

  Scraggles sniffed and shook himself off. He moved into a patch of sun to wash his mittens.

  She changed, stuffing her dress into her book-bag. Not looking at anything in that bag until summer’s over.

  Cora had intentionally passed the heated planting beds without checking on the egg. She’d spent too much time over the last few days watching it. She’d tried holding it up to the light, but the egg shell was too thick. Since shells usually grew thinner as the dragon prepared to hatch, this was a bad sign. I can’t be disappointed. I knew it was a long shot. Stupid Xavian.

  Maybe she should just give up and … what? Throw it out? Bury it in the garden? Leave it in the planting bed to rot?

  She rounded the wall of pallets and approached the planting bed. The heat from the electric lamps warmed her skin. She wished they could get Mr. Algernon to put some in their house. They didn’t smell like the oil lamps did.

  The seedlings had about doubled in size over the last few days. Their broad, dark green leaves lifted like quivering hands towards the light. I wonder if they think it’s the sun or if they can tell the difference. She pushed back two leaves and gazed down at the egg. Her brow furrowed. Tendrils from the plants had wrapped around the egg, cradling it. Kinda weird. I hope they don’t squeeze it too tight. With one finger, she peeled back the top tendril. The egg trembled at her touch.

  Cora's whole body stiffened. She had to have imagined it. Maybe she’d bumped the planting bed and that’s why it shifted.

  “Chirrup.” A muffled sound emanated from the egg. Her heartbeat quickened. It throbbed in her ears, almost overwhelming the next gentle “chirp.”

  The egg fractured, a thin crack spreading across the top. Then a tiny, dark beak poked through, slightly hooked at the end with flaring nostrils. Cora knelt down, her nose inches from the egg. Two bright, green eyes peered through the crack. The dragon chirped again, like a bird, but deeper. It stretched out a thin, elegant neck, then tumbled forward onto its face.

  The dragon kicked with its hind legs and flapped its wax-paper-like wings, trying to free itself from the rest of the shell. Forcing herself to breathe, Cora pulled away the shell and put out her hand. The dragon wormed its way into her palm, stood on all fours, and fl
apped its wings.

  Cora blinked. Four legs, not two, so not a mayfly … but the coloring was an odd, muddy brown, not bright red, yellow, or blue like the other varieties of dragon she knew. “What are you?”

  All dragons, from the tiny mayflies to the giant drakes, started out roughly the same size, so that wasn’t particularly telling. The color though … she’d seen a few variations of the mayflies’ typical green, but never brown … and never more than two legs. Four legs was an attribute of the cat-sized dragons, the strikers and steamers.

  The dragon scratched behind its horn-like ears with its front talon. “Chirp!”

  “Yes, I got that.” She glanced around. Abry had a book all about dragon varieties. She’d loaned it to Cora a few times, but Cora couldn’t remember a brown, four-legged type. A mutant? She’d heard about those sorts of things in school. One child claimed to have had a cousin on a farm who had a kitten born with two tails. If that could happen, she supposed a mayfly could be hatched with off coloring and extra legs … but what if it wasn’t a mayfly? What if it really, truly was a cat-sized dragon, like Abry’s Neptune or the striker in the Emporium window? Could Cora really be that lucky? k`1`2

  Abry will know. She has almost all her books memorized. For now, though, where do I keep you? I suppose even if you aren’t a mayfly, it won’t hurt you to spend the night with them.

  She took the dragon back to the wall of terrariums. Here she hesitated. Which terrarium would it be happiest in? What did it want to eat? Terrarium D had the best overall longevity. That was her best bet, until she found out more about this dragon’s particular sort. She slipped back the lid to the terrarium and tumbled the little creature in.

  In a whirl of wings, the dragon darted back out and perched on her shoulder.

  “Chirrup!” it said, a bit shriller this time. She tried to pick it up, but it gripped into her coveralls with its needle-like talons and gave a whining chirp.

  Cora chewed her bottom lip. She’d had a few mayflies try to escape when she put them in the tank. That was inevitable in dealing with flying creatures, but she’d never had one latch onto her. Something in her yielded. “All right, you can stay with me for a bit, but if you try to fly away, I’ll put you in a tank and leave you there.”

  It folded its wings and settled comfortably against her neck.

  While she fed the mayflies, the dragon clung to her. When she brought out the food, it craned its neck forward, but didn’t go for it.

  Curious, she laid out samples of each food type in a row on the workbench. She bent lower, and the new dragon hopped down and sniffed the spoonful of peaches. It toasted them, gulped them down, then fluttered to the cheese. It continued down the row, devouring everything in its path.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you a little glutton?”

  The dragon threw back its head, belched, and flapped sluggishly before settling once more on her shoulder.

  Cora stroked its neck. Its scales felt warm and smooth. It wasn’t the prettiest dragon, the muddy brown not even as attractive as the green of the mayflies, but there was something charming about it, about how it had latched onto her. It chirped softly.

  Cora smiled. “I think I’ll call you Cricket.”

  Chapter Six

  Cricket

  Abry’s mother was the first, and only, lady lawyer in Farrington. According to Abry, when her mother had first graduated and set up practice, the town had made a big deal of it.

  “It let them feel all modern and progressive, I guess,” Abry had explained. “But that doesn’t really extend to their business. Mom mostly takes on the cases the men-lawyers don’t want.”

  Because of this, rather than a big marble building, Mrs. Stevenson’s office was in the front room of their two story home, next to Reverend Stevenson’s church. The rest of the downstairs might as well have been a library, there were so many books. Abry, whose only chores were dusting book shelves and setting the table, claimed they had over a thousand. Cora didn’t doubt it.

  Today, she knocked on the front door. A flip sign in the window read “closed” but that referred to the law office, not the house. A moment later, Abry threw the door open, bouncing on her toes.

  “Thank God, you’re here! I couldn’t wait much longer. Guess what? Dad … Oh, what’s that?” Abry tilted her head, staring at Cora’s shoulder.

  Cricket stretched its wings and chirped.

  After walking around the greenhouse with the dragon on her shoulder several times, Cora had determined that Cricket wasn’t about to fly away and had risked bringing it to Abry’s unleashed.

  “The egg hatched. Meet Cricket.” Cora reached up and passed the dragon to Abry. Abry took it and flipped it over. Cricket’s chirp became indignant.

  “A boy … and not a mayfly. What is it, though?” Abry asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” Cora shrugged.

  Abry released Cricket who flew back to Cora’s shoulder. He shook out his wings and puffed a ring of smoke. The dragon seemed to have grown several inches longer, just in one night, making Cora wish she’d thought to take measurements when he first hatched. She had this morning, though. He was five inches from wing-tip to wing-tip and six from tail-tip to nose-tip. Definitely bigger than a mayfly.

  “Oooh, a mystery. Nifty. Let’s go get my books.”

  They entered the parlor/office, and Mrs. Stevenson stood up from a chair. “Hello, Cora, dear. I hope your father is well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cora nodded.

  “If you girls are going upstairs to play, try not to be too loud. The reverend is in his study, working on the sermon for tomorrow.” She sat back down and picked up a book.

  Cora glanced back at her as she headed for the stairs. Mrs. Stevenson with her crimped blond bob, middy blouse, and pleated skirt, always looked like a magazine illustration, fresh and put together. She’d even once attended a school event in slacks, causing quite a stir for a holy man’s wife.

  Abry stomped up the stairs. “I’ll put Neptune in his cage. I don’t want him messing with Cricket. He can be territorial at times.”

  Cora waited until Abry called, “All clear” to enter her friend’s room. The cat-sized blue dragon flapped his wings and twisted his neck, his eyes zeroing in on Cricket. Cricket’s claws gripped into Cora’s skin, making her wish she’d worn her coveralls instead of her gingham dress. Coveralls didn’t seem appropriate when visiting the reverend’s house, though.

  Abry laid out her copy of Care and Classification of Domestic Dragons on her desk. “Well, we know he’s not a mayfly, so we can skip those pages. I really thought I had all the sorts memorized.” She flipped to the middle of the book. “Do you think he’s cat-sized? Those usually come in brighter colors.”

  Cora pulled up a chair and looked at the illustrations. Red dragons, blue dragons, yellow, green, and orange … no brown.

  “I don’t know. He has four legs like they do.” She placed Cricket on the desk beside the book.

  “Yes, but other than that the proportions are all wrong. Cat-sized dragons aren’t capable of extended flight. Look at Neptune.” Abry motioned towards the caged dragon. He had stubby front legs and bird-like back legs.

  “Other than the coloring and the size, they don’t look that different.” Cora shrugged.

  “No, I mean his wings.” Abry reached through the wires of the cage and pried one of Neptune’s wings away from his torso. It extended about five inches. “See, short, kind of like a chicken’s wings, not meant for sustained flight. Your Cricket’s wings are much longer in ratio to the size of his body.”

  “So he’s not a cat-sized dragon?” Cora’s heart blocked her throat. What did she have here?

  Abry flipped forward. The next several pages were racing dragons, in various colors, long and sleek, two legged but with four wings. “Not this either … that just leaves the drakes and the queens, but those aren’t legal to own and the coloring is all wrong. Drakes are black, and queens are known for the reflecti
ve scales, giving them a dazzling mirror-like appearance.” Abry turned to the pages with the queen. She didn’t even have to read the text. She knew it by heart.

  “Maybe he’s a mutation,” Cora suggested.

  “Could be, but of what?” The corner of Abry’s mouth twitched. “A mutation is a variation on an existing type. He seems to be a mix of multiple types.”

  Cora glanced back towards Cricket … or where Cricket had been. “Oh no! Where is he?” She stood up in her chair. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. How could I be so stupid to bring him without some sort of cage or leash? Now he’s gone. Gone forever, and it’s my own stupid fault.

  Abry sprang across the room and slammed the door shut. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. The window’s shut, and he was here just a second ago.” She glanced around the room. “Sneaky little devil, isn’t he?”

  Cora’s stomach churned. How could she be sure he hadn’t made it out the door before Abry closed it? What if he was wandering around the house? What if he found an open window and got outside? What if…?

  “Chirp.”

  “That’s him!” Cora shouted.

  “Shush!” Abry put her fingers to her lips.

  “Chirp.” The sound came from down low. Both girls dropped to their knees.

  “I think he’s under the bed.” Cora leaned down.

  “Oh no!” Abry’s face turned white.

  Cricket perched at the edge of a balsa wood box. He’d scratched his way into it and shreds of colored foil lay scattered around him. Opening his mouth, he let out a stream of flame.

  Abry gave out a sound between a squeak and a shout and grabbed Cricket by the wings. She tossed him against Cora’s chest. Cricket scrambled up to Cora’s shoulder and held on for dear life.

  Eyes wide, Abry pulled the box out from under her bed. It was dragon eggs: a ten pack.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you’d bought them yet,” Cora whispered.

  “I … I didn’t. Dad surprised me with them yesterday, a present for acing my last few tests.” Abry’s bottom lip quivered. She pried off the lid. The egg in the upper right hand corner of the box had its foil torn off and scorch marks blackening the shell.