《The Dragon of Rosemont High》


 "Im beginning to think you have a problem."

    It starts on a Wednesday, between Gym class and Math. Eli is walking to the latter, nursing bruises from the former, when he hears a voice in the hall call:


    "Nice game today, Nerdlias."


    Eli tries not to flinch, or huddle down into his textbook. "S-screw you, Lacroix," he stammers, or tries to, even as Arthur Lacroix and his three meathead buddies crowd the hallway. Arthur is everything Elias Drake is not; blond-haired and blue-eyed, broad-shouldered and popular and on the lacrosse team, because of course he is. It''s like they were all handed their scripts in freshman year, Arthur the blond jock, Eli the skinny nerd with bad hair. All he''s missing are the glasses.


    "What did you say, nerd?" snarls one of Arthur''s bodyguards. Eli thinks the guy''s name is Lance, but he''s never sure and they all look like they''ve been churned out from the same jerk factory.


    "Nothing," Eli mutters, and tries to keep walking. Except suddenly Lance is right there, big and looming.


    "I said," he growls, "what did you say to me, nerd?" He emphasizes the last word like he wants to say something else. Wants to, but doesn''t have the balls. Just like he doesn''t have the balls to do anything but pick on skinny sophomores in the hallway backed up by half an army.


    Eli feels something hot and sick curl up in his gut. Hot and sick and small, shivering and frightened but angry, too. He''s suddenly very aware just how alone he is, caught between classes next to a bank of half-rusted lockers that haven''t been used since before the Internet was invented.


    Lance''s breath is hot on Eli''s face, close enough Eli can see the blackheads forming across his nose.


    Maybe it''s that that finally does it. That, or the acid in Eli''s gut or the cold blue state of Arthur Lacroix over Lance''s shoulder. Watching. Assessing. Like he''s just waiting to see what Eli will do.


    One of Arthur''s other mooks pounds one fist into his palm. Everyone, it seems, knows where this is going. Eli figures that, if he has to go down, at least he can go down fighting.


    "I said," he hears himself say, "''Screw you.''" He''s proud how little his voice shakes.


    A big, ugly grin sprawls across Lance''s squashed-pig face. "Yeah," he says. "That''s what I thought." Then his fist slams into Eli''s gut.


    It''s not Eli''s first beating at school, not by a long shot. It is his first beating at this school, however, and he prides himself on lasting this long, even as his spine slams into the lockers behind him.


    He doubles over, gasping for breath, even as he feels hot, meaty hands grab his arms and haul him upright.


    "Time to teach someone some respect," says Lance, cracking his knuckles. Behind him, Lacroix leans against the far wall, playing with his phone, looking bored with the whole affair.


    Eli hates him. He hates all of them, with everything he is, every inch of his being from the pores of his skin to the marrow in his bones.


    Lance pulls his arm back again and Eli sees it coming, moving like it''s in slow motion. Another gut shot-Lacroix''s goons are stupid but not stupid enough to hit anyone where it shows-and Eli''s halfway through bracing for the impact when the bubbling pit of acid below his ribs seems to burst and he thinks, very clearly:


    No. No more.


    There''s a sound, like the roar of some horrific beast, loud enough to startle Lance to stillness.


    "What the-?" he manages, horror dawning in his watery eyes.


    It''s about then that Eli realizes the noise is coming from him. That he''s the beast that''s roaring, something loud and deep and burning. He lunges forward and the hands holding him are torn free, as if their strength is nothing. Eli''s entire body feels strange. Burning like it''s doused in acid, burning like a fever, and then it''s slamming into Lance and then the floor.


    The next thing Eli knows, his teeth are sinking into soft, meaty flesh.


    Lance screams, which startles the others into action. Three sets of hands grab Eli''s shoulders and haul him up. He goes without resistance, mouth full of coppery blood and mind reeling. Did he really just bite Lance Marlowe?


    "He bit me! The little shit bit me!"


    Yes. Yes, apparently he did.


    The burning, tingling feeling hasn''t left his skin and something in his mouth-beyond just the blood-feels wrong. When he brings his hand up to cover it, he feels big, jagged shapes behind his lips.


    Arthur is currently distracted, looking at Lance''s neck and bloodied sweatshirt, joined by the guy Eli thinks might be called Gavin or Gareth or something similar. The fourth guy (Van? Val?) still has one meaty fist wrapped around Eli''s arm but he''s also distracted by Lance''s bloodied neck. Eli figures that if there''s ever a time to get away, it''s now.


    He runs.


    There''s one awful instant when maybe-Val realizes what Eli''s doing. Val shouts, fingers tightening on Eli''s bicep. Eli''s skin still feels like it''s seething, roiling like the ocean--like there''s something just beneath it, trying to get out-and he focuses on that and-


    -and Val is pulling his hand away, yelping in pain, even as Eli hears a sound like tearing fabric. He doesn''t stick around to find out more, just books it down the corridor. Because Eli can''t throw and he can''t catch and he can''t dodge, but running? Running he''s always been able to do.


    Here, today, the burn in his legs blends in with the burn beneath his skin. Blends with the strange buzzing in his ears and the blood in his mouth and the angry shouts of Arthur Lacroix and his goons. Eli startles several people as he passes, not sure where he''s headed, other than "away." He feels faster than he ever has, blood pounding and limbs powerful. He gets the crazy idea to drop down on all fours. He has dreams like that, sometimes; running and leaping so fast and so far he might as well be flying. Maybe that''s what this is. A dream. Maybe the school corridors will blur into his curtains and he''ll wake in his bed and none of this will have ever happened.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Yeah. Right.


    And then, somehow, he''s in the toilets in the science block, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.


    He has spines.


    All across his shoulders and down his arms, and he guesses that''s what the ripping was. His favorite hoodie and everything. The spines are thick and black and jagged like obsidian, like something from a videogame monster, and this has to be a dream because Eli''s skin is on fire and his ears hammer like a bass-beat and everything is going fuzzy around the edges.


    In the mirror, Eli''s eyes shine pure gold, and when he smiles, his blood-smeared teeth are jagged fangs.


    The last thing he remembers is the floor, coming up to meet him.


    <hr>


    The next thing he sees is the ceiling of the Nurse''s office. Eli knows it''s the Nurse''s office because there''s a half dozen pencils stuck into the tiles, shot up by previous occupants of the bed. Also, the blanket is bleached white cotton weave, the sort that exists in hospitals and nowhere else. Eli''s only been at Rosemont High for four months, and this is his third time in this bed. He''s beginning to think he has a problem.


    "I''m beginning to think you have a problem. Since you keep winding up here and all."


    Eli groans, blinks, and turns his head, causing the faded blue hair and heavy black eyeliner of Zoe Chung to roll into view.


    Zoe is Eli''s friend, the sole one he''s managed to make in the four months since he came here. In the four months since his parents got into their car one evening and drove out and-


    And anyway. Zoe. Eli had found her hiding in the library on his third day, and they''d bonded over a mutual love of Warren Ellis and avoiding the ire of the cooler, prettier, more popular kids.


    Not that Zoe isn''t pretty. She''s . . . big ("Fat, Ee. I''m fat. Just say the word.") though, and Eli supposes there are a lot of people who can''t see past that. Not to mention Zoe''s sense of style, which she describes as "cosplay casual."


    Today is, apparently, a Harry Potter day, with Zoe decked out in black and blue and bronze.


    When Eli puts his hand up to feel his mouth, the blood is gone, and so are the fangs. "What happened?" he says.


    "That''s what I''m hoping you can tell me," says Zoe. "You missed Math and Mr. Sharma says he found you passed out in the bathroom."


    Eli groans again, then sits up. The weird burning feeling in his skin has gone but he feels shaky and weak in its wake. And hungry. Super, super hungry. His hand goes to his stomach and that''s about when he realizes he''s not wearing his own shirt.


    "What-?"


    "I put your clothes in your bag," Zoe says. "But I don''t think you''ll be wearing them again. They were pretty ripped up." She pauses, then her hand settles gently on Eli''s forearm. The nails are striped blue and bronze. Zoe repaints them every night, Eli knows. To match the next day''s outfit.


    "Ee . . ." Her voice is soft, now. Caring. "Ee, if something . . . if something happened, you know you can tell me, right? I won''t tell anyone else if you don''t want me to."


    "Arthur Lacroix and his goons jumped me in the hall," he says, because he knows Zoe''s telling the truth. "I think . . . I think I bit Lance Marlowe in the throat."


    It''s a hushed confession, almost ashamed, but Zoe just bursts out laughing. She punches Eli in the arm playfully. "Well, good! Asshole probably deserved it."


    Eli allows himself a grin. "Yeah," he said. "He did. Bit him pretty hard, though. There was blood." The borrowed t-shirt he''s wearing is too big and too threadbare. But the skin on his arms looks exactly how it''s supposed to; no spikes or scutes or scales. Nothing monstrous at all. Maybe he just imagined what he saw in the bathroom. Adrenalin causes hallucinations, probably. Eli makes a mental note to look it up.


    Zoe''s face scrunches into disgust. "Ew, no way did you get Lance''s blood in your mouth. Who knows what he''s carrying. Here"-she produces her satchel from the floor and starts rummaging inside-"drink this." She hands Eli a leather-wrapped thermos that looks like a set prop from Game of Thrones.


    The thermos is warm and, when Eli unscrews the lid, the contents smell like chamomile and lemongrass.


    "It''s a healing potion," Zoe explains, by which she means tea. "It''ll help."


    Eli takes a sip, because he figures it can''t hurt. Zoe keeps a remarkable array of dried herbs in her bag and can brew a "potion" for any occasion. Eli''s not sure whether she really believes they have magic powers, and he knows he definitely doesn''t. Still, her teas usually taste pretty good and it makes her feel better when he drinks them.


    The nurse reappears not long after. He''s a stocky, no-nonsense dude called Ike, with full sleeve tats and massive gauges in his ears. But he''s gentle as he inspects Eli for injuries.


    "Think I just fainted," Eli lies. "I skipped lunch."


    "Uh-huh," says Nurse Ike. "Sure. You skipped lunch and fainted onto Lance Marlowe''s neck, did you?"


    "Maybe." Eli slides his eyes away, and Ike sighs.


    "Get out of here," he says. "You should be fine. If you get any sharp pain in your gut or if you pee blood, go see a doctor."


    "How do you-?" Eli starts, before clamping his mouth shut and looking away.


    Ike snorts. "Yeah. Thought so. Off you go. Bring the shirt back by Friday."


    Thing is, Eli is pretty sure he should have sone kind of injury. He remembers the feel of Lance''s fist connecting with his stomach. If nothing else, it should''ve left a bruise.


    Except it didn''t. Eli checks under the too-thin loaner shirt and the skin isn''t so much as tender.


    Must be the tea, he thinks, and tries not to remember a beast with sharp teeth and glowing, golden eyes.


    <hr>


    Aunt Addi is out when Eli gets back to her place-gets back to home, he reminds himself-but there''s a note on the kitchen table and dinner in the fridge.


    Aunt Addi, a.k.a. Deputy Drake, was Dad''s younger sister and is one of Rosemont''s Finest. She was always Eli''s favorite aunt and she tries hard to be a good guardian, but she wasn''t exactly ready for . . . this. For Eli. For Mom and Dad to wrap their car around a streetlamp at a hundred miles an hour. Neither was Eli, for that matter. He''s pretty sure no one ever could be.


    Dinner is lasagne. Addi is an awful cook-before Eli, he''s pretty sure she survived on takeout and ramen-but lasagne is the one thing she can do. Plus, it lasts.


    Eli reheats his in the microwave, even if it makes the top go soggy and the middle too hot. He thinks maybe tomorrow he should cook instead. Tacos, maybe. He could totally go some tacos.


    Tonight, he takes his too-hot lasagne and eats it in his room, in front of his computer, the eight-by-eight grid of his Launchpad sitting quiet below. There''s a project he''s been working on, and he taps a few samples on and off, tries to feel the beat calling to him.


    This is where the magic happens. This is where, no matter how many Arthurs or Lances are in Eli''s day, this is where he comes to fly. Fingers soaring on rhythm and melody, lifted by the brilliant lights of the grid. Eli plays for himself and he plays for Zoe and, sometimes, he even plays for YouTube.


    His last upload got nearly ten thousand hits. It''s not everything, but it''s something.


    But that mix only used half the buttons on the ''Pad, only half the samples, and was only Eli messing around. This time? This time he wants bigger, better. The full sixty-four. He''s loaded up with Nicki and Beyonc��, but also PSY and Dragonforce and the theme from The X-Files, because he likes the contrast. It''s all a mess right now and he can''t make it work, but he will. He has to. This is the one thing he''s good at, the one thing that lets him escape, lets him forget about a knock on the door and two cops with dour faces and please come with us, there''s been an accident and-


    And there''s none of that, not when he''s flying.


    So he flies. And his lasagne gets cold, and when Aunt Addi finally gets home she finds him drooling on the desk, fast asleep, a mish-mash jangle of pop culture white noise laid over like a blanket.

 "Im kinda trying not to think about the horrible murder right now."

    On Thursday, there''s been a murder.


    "Did you hear? There''s been a murder!"


    Apparently it''s a Sherlock day today, judging from Zoe''s black overcoat and blue scarf. Eli isn''t sure whether the theming is appropriate, but it''s subdued enough that maybe no one else will notice.


    "I guess that''s why Addi was out last night," Eli offers, hugging his books closer to his chest. Across the quad Lance makes the I''m-watching-you gesture, a big white gauze pad taped to his neck.


    "They think it happened last week. Guy didn''t turn up for his shift at the gas station just out of town. Sheriff found his body like five miles away in the woods, torn to shreds. Like it''d been mauled by an animal."


    Eli tries not to think of sharp teeth and yellow eyes. Which is easier said than done, of course, when the only thing anyone talks about all morning is the murder. The stories get wilder as the periods drag on; a bear becomes a serial killer becomes a mob hit becomes a monster.


    "It''s Satanists," announces Morgan Lacroix, just before Spanish. "Human-sacrificing Satanists." Morgan is Arthur''s little sister, and an equal tie for the Worst Person At Rosemont High, as far as Eli is concerned.


    "Don''t be retarded," is Mark Winger''s, not-entirely-politically-correct opinion. "Satanists don''t do that."


    "How would you know," Morgan snaps. "Know many Satanists?"


    "Uh, yes? My brother''s in a metal band, duh."


    "Besides," Morgan continues, ignoring Mark. "Mom was called out last night. Mom wouldn''t have been called out if the Sheriff didn''t suspect something."


    Ms. Lacroix is some sort of police consultant, specializing in so-called "weird cases." Eli knows this because Aunt Addi knows it and, if prompted, will complain about both it in general and Ms. Lacroix, specifically.


    "Elias, your aunt is a deputy, right? What does she say?"


    It takes Eli a full three seconds to realize every eye in the class has focused on him. Including Morgan''s; sapphire blue gems, glinting above peach-blush cheeks and beneath hair like spun gold.


    Eli swallows thickly, and says:


    "Uh. S-she wasn''t home last night. And was asleep this morning. Um. S-sorry?"


    The answer earns him a few derisive scoffs, though Morgan just looks contemplative. "See? It must be serious if they''re keeping the Sheriff''s people out there all night. They wouldn''t do that for, like, an animal attack or whatever."


    "It''s still not Satanists," is Mark''s opinion.


    <hr>


    "It was probably just a bear."


    "Uh huh." Eli nods, mostly because Jake looks so earnest.


    Jake Smith is what, in Eli''s opinion, would happen if an evil sorcerer turned a slice of supermarket white bread into a human. Not even a whole loaf; just a slice. Jake is somewhere between short and tall, thin and fat. With hair that can''t decide whether it''s blond or brunet, and eyes the color of a paint palette after an hour with a room of rowdy preschoolers. He''s entirely un-memorable, so much so that Eli can''t even remember if he''s their friend or not. Sometimes he sits with them, sometimes he doesn''t, and Eli barely notices either way.


    "That sort of thing happens, you know," Jake continues. There''s something hungry in the way he looks at Eli when he says it. Like he''s drowning and Eli''s the one with the boat. Or the helicopter.


    "I guess so, man," Eli says, mostly because he hates it when Jake looks at him like that. "I just . . . can we not talk about it? I''m kinda trying not to think about the horrible murder right now."


    "Oh." Jake blinks and physically recoils, like he''s been slapped. "R-right," he says. "B-because of your parents."


    Because of yellow eyes and sharp teeth, but Eli isn''t about to admit that. "Yeah," he says. "And Aunt Addi. I mean, if it really is something dangerous . . ." About the most serious crimes Rosemont sees year-on-year are DUIs and shoplifting. Eli doesn''t want to think about it being more dangerous that that. He''s already lost one set of parents. How''s the quote go? Losing another would look like carelessness.


    "Here." Zoe looks up from whatever she''s been doing, and tosses something at Eli. He fails spectacularly to catch it, but it doesn''t fall far and it isn''t breakable.


    "What is it?" A small cotton pouch, wrapped up tight in blue wool. It smells like sandalwood and there''s something hard in the centre.


    "Amulet," Zoe says. "For protection. Keep it, or slip it in your Aunt''s pocket if you''re worried about her."


    Eli looks at the amulet then back to Zoe, sitting in the middle of her dime store occult arts and crafts paraphernalia. "Thanks," he says, and means it.


    <hr>


    Zoe''s amulet might not be real magic, but the fact she cares enough to make it keeps Eli''s heart light for the rest of the afternoon. At least until Lance corners him on the way home.


    "I know you did it, Drake," he snarls. They''re in the middle of the hallway, Eli up to his elbows in his locker, Lance leaning next to it. At least fifty people are in shouting distance, including three teachers. Whatever Lance is doing, he''s not sizing Eli up for another beating.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "What are you talking about, Marlowe?"


    Lance points to his own neck. "I''ve seen under this thing. Whatever the hell bit me didn''t have no human teeth. Except whatever the hell bit me was you. And now people are getting murdered like they''ve been chomped on by monsters? Yeah. I''m onto you, Drake. You won''t get away with this."


    Eli slams his locker shut, and Lance jumps at the sound. "Wait," he says. "You think I''m some kind of gas-station-attendant killing monster?"


    "Don''t try and deny it!" Lance stabs his finger in the air as he says it. He looks like he wants to be stabbing it in Eli''s chest, but doesn''t have the guts to. Like being a monster is contagious.


    "You think I''m this ''monster'' and you''re here telling me about it?"


    Eli sees the moment Lance realizes his error, the smug expression dropping so fast it might be funny, were Eli in a laughing mood. "Er . . ."


    "You also realize," Eli continues, "that if I really were this monster of yours, I bit you. That means you''re a monster now, too. And who''s more likely to be out rampaging and killing people? The monster who knows what he''s doing"-he points to himself-"or the new cub." He points to Lance.


    Lance goes so pale he''d make even Morgan''s foundation look tanned. "Oh," he says. "Oh, f-"


    Eli doesn''t stick around for the revelation, just books it down the hall.


    <hr>


    His clothes from yesterday are shredded, no mistaking it. Eli inspects them when he gets home from school. Someone, possibly Nurse Ike, had balled them up and tied them in an old plastic shopping bag. Yesterday, it''d been good for displacement; Eli had throw the bundle in the corner with the intent of never looking at it again. If he never looked at it, he''d never have confirmation-one way or the other-about what he''d seen in the Science Block bathroom mirror.


    Tonight, he has confirmation.


    Internet searches for am I turning into a monster end up being either too psychologically metaphorical or links to Imagine Dragons songs. The question am I turning into a werewolf results in more helpful answers for people with a problem that isn''t Eli''s.


    If nothing else, Eli is pretty sure werewolves don''t have spikes that can tear through a hoodie. Maybe he''s turning into a werehedgehog?


    In the end, he shoves the bag of ruined clothes under the bed, and vows not to think about it. Instead, he makes tacos.


    Of course, they don''t actually have the ingredients to do so, and Aunt Addi is once again nothing more than an apologetic note on the kitchen table. Eli fingers Zoe''s amulet in the pocket of his jeans, and hopes his aunt''s night is more about paperwork than crime scenes.


    Four months ago, Elias Drake was one of the eight and a half million souls to call New York City home. Today, he''s one of the three thousand that do the same for Rosemont. The town itself is little more than an outpost along the train line, a satellite suburb huddled at the edge of a national park, the weekend retreat for the bankers and lawyers that fill in Rosemont Heights; a gated community filled with gated mansions.


    Sheriff''s deputies don''t live in gated mansions. Aunt Addi''s place is a creaking old wood-paneled building of the sort Eli had only ever seen in videogames and Stephen King movies. It''s a three block walk from there to the ShopStop, a.k.a. what passes for a convenience store here in the armpit of nowhere. The ShopStop sells a lot of quinoa and organic kale, but Eli supposes that''s the way things go nowadays. Not even Rosemont is free from what Dad used to call "the cancer of gentrification."


    Eli''s about a block from the ShopStop when he sees the monster. The sun hasn''t quite set but the clouds are low enough and heavy enough that it doesn''t matter. Eli''s halfway down Old Coe Road; it winds around behind the main streets, inching into forest, and he usually likes it because it''s quiet and gives him time to compose beats in his head. This evening, he''s startled from his thoughts by a snapping branch and the thick, wet huff of a large animal exhaling.


    At first, he thinks it''s a deer. He sees them, sometimes, wandering the streets and through backyards. Much cooler than the squirrels Eli was used to in the city. The head of the thing Eli is looking at is certainly deer-like; large and black and set beneath two huge, twisted horns. Except below that? Below that isn''t anything like a deer at all. It looks more like an eagle, except an eagle the size of a man, huge wings hunched like a vulture and scythe-sharp talons pawing in the dirt. The creature has mad red eyes that glow like LEDs against the glossy oil-slick black of its feathers. Mad red eyes that are focused right on Eli.


    "Oh. Shit."


    He should run. He knows he should. But the monster''s eye seem to pin him. Eli''s heart is dropping like dubstep and that strange, hot tingly feeling is back in his limbs again.


    The monster takes a step forward.


    It''s comical, almost, or would be, were Eli not a hairsbreadth from pissing his own jeans. The monster is not designed to walk on land, and it moves with a series of waddling hops. Eli is suddenly very, very aware of the tree-line, not ten feet to his left. The monster is maybe thirty feet in front of him. It''s big, and he''s betting it''s fast when it''s airborne, but he doubts it can fly between the trees.


    The monster takes another hopping step forward, head lowering and feathered hackles raising. Eli feels the sweat bead on his palms even as he slips one hand into his pocket. Zoe''s amulet is still there, and Eli tightens his fingers around it. Useless junk or not, tonight he''ll take all the help he can get.


    He has one moment to process what feels like a warm breath of air, gusting across his skin before the monster lunges forward, opens its mouth, and screams.


    The sound is the second most soul-shearingly awful thing Eli''s ever heard, right on the heels of son, there''s been an accident. It''s like the dying screams of a dozen children, being flayed alive. Like a hundred cats being burnt in a sack, a thousand bunnies squashed beneath a bicycle''s wheel. It''s a banshee scream, something soul-sick that reeks of clotted blood and the absolute, searing certainty that death has found him.


    "Not today, asshole!" Eli screams back, lunging left and breaking for the trees. His legs devour the ground. It''s not far, not really, but the relative safety of the woods may as well be the other side of the world when Eli can feel the monster''s loping footfalls shake the ground and hear the heavy whump-whump bass of its beating wings.


    It''s the wings that do it, in the end. Or rather, the great gusts of wind they raise up. Eli is past the first tree and into the woods when the wall of air hits him from behind like a physical blow. He stumbles, unprepared, going down hard against the dirt, chin cracking against a root with enough force that he can feel it in his teeth.


    It''s still nothing to the agony a moment later, when monstrous jaws clamp down on his calf.


    The world spins as Eli is half dragged, half tossed back into the grass. He bounces, then rolls, finally coming to a stop half-on-half-off the road. His wrong body feels like it''s on fire again, like there''s something hot and huge inside, waiting to come out.


    It doesn''t get a chance, not when the monster lunges an instant later, its mouth open far too wide for a mere deer, the teeth inside as sharp and square as razors.


    It lunges. Eli brings his arms up, one last futile gesture and-


    There''s . . . something. A flash of light, a noise like a sack full of bricks bouncing off a stripped electrical cord. The strange reek of burnt feathers and ozone fills Eli''s nose.


    And then, when the light clears, Eli see the monster crumpled on the grass, not ten feet away. Smoke rises from its back and strange arcs of blue-white power spark between its antlers.


    Eli''s arms are still raised. More blue-white light pulses between the fingers of his left hand.


    Zoe''s amulet.


    "Holy shit," says Eli, to no one at all. "It worked."


    In front of him, the monster twitches. Eli doesn''t wait around to see if it''s still alive.

 "What would you do? If you had a pet monster, I mean?"

    Zoe is waiting for him on the sidewalk outside her house, eyes wide and phone clutched in her hand.


    "Eli!" She starts running as soon as she sees him, and they crash together bodily in the middle of your street. "Eli, I got your text. What happened? What did you do?" She reaches a hand up to ghost it around the dark halo of his hair, currently even more fried than usual. "You look like you''ve been electrocuted!"


    "I saw it!" Eli grabs Zoe''s forearms, hauling her forward. "Zee, I saw it! I saw the monster!"


    "Monster?" Zoe''s expression twists, dubious, and she pulls back just slightly. "What monster? Ee, what are you talking about?"


    "The monster, Zoe," Eli says. "The one that killed that dude. It''s real. I saw it. Addi is out again and I was going to make tacos but we didn''t have the ingredients," it comes out all in one big rush. "So I was walking to the ShopStop down that road that goes behind the houses, y''know? Where you wanted to do the photoshoot? And anyway I saw it. It was . . . it had these antlers and was kind of like a deer, but it had wings, too, and��"


    "Whoa, whoa, whoa." This time, Zoe does extract herself, stepping backwards and out of Eli''s grasp. "Ee, are you high?"


    "No!" God. Monsters nothing. His Aunt would kill him. "Zoe, I know it sounds crazy but you gotta believe me. I saw the monster. It attacked me!"


    Zoe looks him up and down, at the grazing on his hands and the bruise forming on his face. "I believe something attacked you," she says finally. "You said it was . . . a deer?"


    "Kinda. I mean . . . part of it? It''s hard to��" An idea strikes. "Wait. I''ll show you. C''mon."


    "I ain''t gonna go see no monster," Zoe calls. But Eli is headed towards her house, and after a moment he hears her start jogging to follow him.


    He leads her down into the basement, through the outside door (it''s not locked, because things often aren''t, in Rosemont Heights). Zoe''s parents are even bigger nerds then Zoe, and they have a whole room beneath their house set aside for game nights. Of the Dungeons and Dragons variety.


    The room is wall-to-wall bookshelves laid out around two huge tables. The remnants of past games are everywhere: piles of dice and pencils, half-built decks for whatever trading card game Ms. Chung is currently working on, Mr. Chung''s armies of painted miniatures.


    Eli finds what he''s looking for on a shelf underneath a giant painting of a dragon, flying over grassy islands that float in the sky like balloons. He hauls the book from the shelf and starts flicking through the glossy pages.


    "The Monster Manual?" Zoe asks, incredulous. "You go attacked by, what? Two d-four of kobolds at the ShopStop?"


    "No," Eli says, finding what he''s looking for. "I got attacked by this."


    Zoe squints at the page, then at Eli, like she can''t quite tell if he''s yanking her chain or not. "A peryton?" she finally says. "You got attacked by CR-two of peryton?"


    "Yes!"


    "Har har, Eli. Very funny. And to think I was almost��"


    "I''m serious, Zoe!" Eli says. "I know it sounds crazy, and I know what I saw. And it was this. It nearly bit my leg off," he adds, suddenly deeply aware of just how mad he must sound and just how strangely Zoe is looking at him.


    Zoe glances back at the book''s page. The image of the peryton snarls back at her; half-bird, half-deer. "And it looked, what. Exactly like this?"


    Eli studies the images. "Not exactly," he confesses. "It was black. And the horns were different��"


    "Antlers."


    Eli rolls his eyes. "And it was . . ." he pauses, unsure. The creature, the peryton, was death in a feather boa. Like a rotting, festering wound in the flesh of What Should Be. Like taking a bite of a burger and finding half a turd instead of an all-beef patty. "It was messed up," he finally settles on.


    Zoe sighs, looking between Eli''s obviously injured face and the book. Eventually, she says, "Well. I believe you got attacked by something. How did you get away?"


    The question jolts Eli back into action. A moment later, he fishes his savior out of his pocket and holds it out for Zoe''s inspection. "This."


    It''s the amulet. Or, at least, what''s left of it.


    "Is that . . ." Zoe looks at the burnt-out husk of cotton and walnut. "It''s the amulet I made for you."


    Eli nods. "Zee," he says, "it worked. The preyton��"


    "Peryton."


    "Whatever. It, like . . . I figured I could escape it if I ran into the trees. Except it got me first, dragged me halfway down Old Coe Road. I thought . . ." Eli swallows, the sudden realization of what he''d thought��that he could''ve died��hitting him with unexpected, painful force. "It attacked. I had your . . . your thing in my hand, and I raised my arms up, y''know." He mimes the gesture, arms crossed over his face. "And then . . . boom! Like a freakin'' force-field, man. Tall Dark and Feathered bounces off and I book it before it can recover."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Zoe holds out her hand, frown setting a deep line between her brows. Eli hands her the burnt-out husk of amulet, and she studies it critically. "It . . . ''force field?''"


    "I dunno what else to call it," Eli confesses. "Like, blue light. But solid. Smelt like a rainstorm, y''know."


    "I . . ." Zoe swallows. Seems to reconsider and starts again, "Ee," she says. "The . . . the magic stuff. It''s not supposed to . . . I mean. It''s subtle, y''know? Not like in video games."


    "Well, I dunno what to tell you. ''Cause this? This was totally like in video games." A thought occurs. "Maybe the presence of the monster like, activated it somehow?" That sounds reasonable, right?


    "Maybe," Zoe says, still eyeing the depleted amulet. "Whatever happened, I guess it''s ruined, now."


    "Can you make more?" Eli asks. "In case it co��" He''s interrupted by the creak of footsteps on the stairs and, a moment later, Mr. Chung''s head appearing around the door jamb.


    "A-hah!" he announces. "I thought I heard voices. Elias, good to see you." He grins, big and slightly goofy.


    "You too, Mr. Chung."


    "Please, call me Max," says Mr. Chung, for about the millionth time.


    Max Chung is a rail thin man with a long dark ponytail and an easy grin framed by a neat, greying goatee. He works in tech, though Eli''s not clear on the details, other than that it has something to do with a startup sold for millions and currently funding the Chungs'' relaxed, semi-rural lifestyle.


    Near as Eli can tell, Mr. Chung likes him, because he''s friends with Zoe, who hasn''t always been overflowing in the popularity department. Which is perhaps why Mr. Chung''s eyebrows shoot up in paternal concern when he gets a closer look at Eli''s face.


    "Elias, good God," he says. "What happened to you? Is everything all right?"


    "Fine, sir," Eli lies. "Was jogging in the woods and tripped, is all."


    Mr. Chung makes a sympathetic noise. "Zoe, honey," he says. "How about you help Elias get cleaned up, then he can stay for dinner?"


    Which is how Eli ends up sitting on the edge of the bath in the guest bathroom, Zoe hovering very close and dabbing something that smells like honey and rosemary onto his face.


    "It''s a healing salve," she explains.


    "I hope it works as well as your amulets." Eli gives a rakish grin, and tries not to notice the way the skin beneath Zoe''s fingers tingles with warmth. Zoe is very close, brows knitted in concentration as she applies her salve. She''s out of costume and out of make-up; Eli can see the strips of acne that bloom, blotchy and red, across her brow and her cheeks. The sight of it makes something warm squirm in his stomach. Like he''s being let in on a secret.


    After Zoe decrees Eli is appropriately salved, they go and fetch dinner from Mr. Chung. It''s some sort of salmon-and-kale-chips thing Mr. Chung is trying to replicate from, "that time we went to the place with Jim in the Valley, y''know?", to which Ms. Chung''s response is, "mm" from where she''s organizing game cards on the kitchen table.


    Dinner at the Chungs'' is not a communal affair. Zoe''s parents have Raid Night in their MMO guild, so vanish into their studies to scream obscenities into their computer mics. Zoe and Eli, meanwhile, set up in Zoe''s room, books spread across the floor around them.


    "Okay." Eli''s back to studying the Monster Manual with great intent. "It says here the peryton can be summoned by a powerful sorcerer. To, like, get revenge on enemies."


    Zoe looks up, giving her best Star Trek eyebrow. "''Says here''?" she repeats. "What, in the powerful bestiary written by the legendary occult scholar, the Wizard of the Coast?"


    "Har har. Do you have anything better?" Eli ignores Zoe''s muttered maybe and continues. "Anyway. Apparently the sorcerer swaps his shadow for the peryton''s shadow. So long as he��"


    "Who says the sorcerer is a he?"


    "So long as they control the shadow, they can control the peryton. And when they control the peryton, they can make it do whatever they want."


    Zoe considers this. "Okay, so, what? We just have to get everyone in town to line up in front of a bright light, and see whose shadow looks like some hideous deer monster?"


    "I guess."


    "Why make it kill the guy at the gas station, though? I mean, if you could summon and control monsters, why get them to do that?"


    Eli shrugs. "I don''t know," he says. "What would you do? If you had a pet monster, I mean?" He tries not to think about yellow eyes and a shredded hoodie.


    "If it had wings? I''d go flying, duh."


    "You wouldn''t try to, I dunno. Get revenge on people or whatever?"


    Zoe looks guilty, but only slightly. "Well," she says, "maybe. I might, like, scare them a little. But I''d never kill anyone!" She picks at her food, carefully separating the salmon from the kale. Zoe hates kale. So does Eli, but doesn''t want to mention it when he''s a guest eating someone else''s food, and so chokes it down.


    "I cursed Tiffany McIntyre in eighth grade," Zoe suddenly blurts.


    Eli pauses, mid-kale-filled-chew. "Huh?"


    "I cursed her," Zoe repeats. "She was just . . . such a horrid bitch. She was mean to me and she''d trip me up in the hall and . . . and I got sick of it and I cursed her."


    "With what?"


    "Katie thought she was so great because she was going out with Matt Sanderson. So I got a pin and a candle and I cast a . . . a break-up revenge spell." Zoe''s face goes bright pink as she says it, old shame rushing in. "A week later, Matt told the whole school Katie blew him behind the basketball court. Katie was . . . she was really upset. People started saying horrible things about her and she ended up dropping out. I think her parents started homeschooling her. They were . . . they were really strict, you know?"


    Eli nods, unsure what else to do.


    "And I''ve always . . ." Zoe cuts herself off, studies her nails (stripped of today''s polish, not yet sporting tomorrow''s). "That was me, what happened. Black magic."


    Thing is, it''s not like Eli believes in magic. Not really, and the last few days notwithstanding. But he believes in Zoe''s feelings, and he believes Katie McIntyre and Matt Sanderson were both probably assholes who deserved each other. Which is why he says:


    "Maybe it wasn''t you. Maybe this Matt guy was just a douche. That would''ve happened whether you''d cast a spell or not."


    Zoe gives a weak little smile. "Casting aspersions on my mad witchy powers, Drake?"


    Eli grins in return, big and bright. "Not at all, girl," he says. "In fact, was gonna ask if you could brew us up something to catch this monster."


    Zoe makes a pfft sound, smile returning in earnest. "In my sleep, could I." Her expression abruptly sobers. "Um. Ee?" she says. "Thanks. I''ve never . . . I''ve never told anyone about what happened with Katie before. Thanks for, for not . . ." She trails off, then looks down. "Just. Thanks."


    "Anytime, man. That''s what friends are for, right? Knowing all your deep, dark secrets?"


    Eli keeps the smile fixed on his face as he says it, and tries not to think of too-sharp teeth.

 "How lucky do you feel, Elias?"

    On Friday, Aunt Addi is cooking breakfast. As soon as she sees Eli, she gives him a bone-crushing hug.


    "Addi?" he asks. It''s not his face, that he does know. Whatever Zoe put in her potion, it worked, and now Eli''s skin is as healed as it was on Tuesday. Maybe better, given the way his acne seems to have vanished along with the bruises.


    He gets one more squeeze before Aunt Addi takes a step back, still holding onto his arms as she regards him with soft pride. Addi is five-foot-nothing, all neat uniform and tight braids. Not stern, exactly, but Eli doesn''t think he''s seen quite this expression on her face since . . . since he came to live here.


    "You''re a good man, Elias Drake," she''s saying, apropos of nothing Eli can see. "Your daddy would be proud of you. I want you to remember that."


    "Um," says Eli. "Thanks, Aunt Addi."


    It''s a strange interaction, but it''s followed by a plate of waffles, so Eli doesn''t think too much more about it. Particularly not when Addi says, "You might see Lacroix at school today."


    It takes Eli a moment to realize Addi means Ms. Lacroix, not Arthur or Morgan. "Is it about the murder?" he asks, trying to not appear too interested.


    Judging by Addi''s sigh, he fails miserably. "Murders," she corrects. "There was another overnight."


    The shiver ripples up Eli''s spine before he''s even really processed the words. Like something shifting just beneath his skin, hot and angry. "Another?" he says, his voice a strange almost-growl. Funny, how he doesn''t feel frightened.


    If Addi notices anything amiss, she doesn''t show it, just nods. "In the woods behind Old Coe Road."


    Eli''s heart stutters, just once. "Who?"


    "Old Mr. Lawrence," Addi says. "I don''t think you knew him."


    Eli shakes his head. "But . . . if Ms. Lacroix is going to be at the school . . .?"


    Addi sighs, heavy and frustrated. "Lacroix sees cults and serial killers in the burn marks on her toast," she snaps. Then her eyes go momentarily wide. "Don''t tell her I said that."


    "I won''t."


    "In fact, best you don''t tell her much of anything."


    "Aunt Addi?" Eli feels there''s something he''s missing.


    "She''s not a cop," Addi says. "You just remember that, okay?"


    Addi''s brow is furrowed, and she''s looking at Eli with the sort of intensity she normally reserved for evidence reports and suspect confessions.


    "Eli?" she prompts. "Promise me you''ll remember."


    "I promise," Eli says, and wonders what she means.


    <hr>


    He finds out about ten seconds after walking into school property.


    "Mister Drake, with me please."


    Eli has always liked Principal Malek. He''s middle-aged and overweight, with greying hair and the sort of eyes that still sparkle with mischief and wonder. Eli figures any guy who can look like that while being the boss of a school like Rosemont must be a-okay.


    Today, Principal Malek has no hint of good-natured joviality; his eyes are shadowed and there''s a tense set to his jaw. Eli knows that expression. It''s the watered-down version of son, there''s been an accident, and it never bodes well.


    "Principal Malek?" Eli says. "Is everything okay?"


    "Fine," Malek says, and Eli knows it''s a lie. "Everything will be fine."


    He takes Eli to the councillor''s office. Eli knows the place well; walls painted in the big, looping street art of kids long-since graduated, floor covered with brightly colored bean bags and large plush Pok��mon toys. The school councillor is a woman named Miss Fleur, and looks like a refugee from a photograph of Woodstock by way of a Tim Burton film about faeries. She''s kind of spacey, but she''s always nice to Eli and she does try.


    Today, Miss Fleur is nowhere to be seen. Neither are her bean bags and plush toys. Instead, they''ve been replaced by a single table and two chairs, set up like a TV cop show interrogation room. The blinds are shut and only the graffiti on the walls reminds Eli of where he is.


    Principal Malek leaves Eli in the room with a squeeze to his shoulder and a very distressing murmur of, "Good luck." Eli is suddenly sharply reminded of Addi''s warning, and he knows who he''s going to see even before her designer heels click-clack into the room.


    "Sit down, Mister Drake," says Yvonne Lacroix. "This will go quickly if you cooperate."


    Lacroix looks like an older version of Morgan, albeit one carved out of ice and razor blades. Everything about her is some variation of designer off-white: her pantsuit, her hair, her skin. Even her eyes are a bleached sort of grey Eli''s never seen before. She looks like the CEO of Ghost and Skeleton, Incorporated, and Eli hates her immediately.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Eli does not sit. Instead, he walks to the window and peers out through the blinds. The sky outside is low and dark with clouds. So much for finding the peryton''s master by their shadow.


    Lacroix says:


    "Do you know who I am, Elias?"


    "Arthur and Morgan''s mom," Eli says, a slightly petty edge creeping into his voice.


    Lacroix continues as if he hadn''t even spoken: "I represent a private consulting firm specializing in assisting law enforcement with unusual crimes. I''m currently investigating a series of six murders in Rosemont and the surrounding region."


    Eli can''t help the little jolt when he hears six murders, and has half-turned to face Lacroix before he can stop himself. She gives him a razor-gash little smile that says gotcha as clearly as if she''d yelled it out loud.


    Her lipstick, Eli notices, is the same color as the rest of her face. It doesn''t do anything to make her look less like a corpse.


    "Tell me about Lance Marlowe."


    Eli feels the anger like a physical pain, a bubble forming deep inside and bursting across his skin almost as quickly. Of course this is Lance Marlowe''s fault. Of course that asshole had to go tattle to Arthur''s mom.


    The anger goes as quickly as it comes, popped and dispersed, the source pushed back down and caged and sealed. Never let them see you angry, Dad told him once. Never give them the excuse. Eli says nothing, just resumes staring out the window. Not that there''s much to see. Class has started and he''s missing History. He likes History.


    "You assaulted Lance the other day," Lacroix says. "He has quite a serious injury to the neck. It''s a sensitive area; if the wound had been positioned slightly differently, it would''ve hit his jugular. It''s unlikely he would have survived it."


    The words set a slightly queasy roil in the pit of Eli''s stomach. Marlowe is an asshole but Eli doesn''t want to kill him.


    "You could be charged," Lacroix continues. "Assault if you''re lucky. Attempted murder if not. How lucky do you feel, Elias?"


    Yellow eyes and sharp teeth and Eli''s voice saying: "If I''m accused of something, then send the cops. I know my rights."


    Lacroix shifts, sharp nails click-clacking against the table. "That''s right," she says, as if just remembering something. "Your father was a lawyer, wasn''t he?" Then, when Eli says nothing: "Such a shame, what happened." But she''s smiling, pallid and ghoulish, and the sight of it sends every single hair on Eli''s body standing on end.


    What do you know about that? he wants to scream. He doesn''t, but he''s looking at Lacroix now, eyes wide, and her smile says she knows she has him.


    "I know you think you''re very smart, Elias Drake," she says. "But this is a serious investigation. Failure to cooperate could be perceived very negatively. I know your aunt works for the Sheriff''s department. If it were more widely known her nephew was being obstructionist in the pursuit of a dangerous serial killer, I think that would go down very poorly, don''t you?"


    Eli feels hot and cold, all at once. "I want a lawyer," he says. What he means is I want Dad. But that''s not an option, not any more, not ever again.


    Lacroix just gives a small sigh, like a tired mother dealing with an obstinate toddler. "Very well," she says. "If that''s how you want this done. I was hoping we could have had a more . . . productive engagement, off the record, but it seems not. Keep in mind that the next time we speak, the stakes will be much, much higher."


    <hr>


    Eli manages to catch the tail end of History, then Music after that. Which is okay. He doesn''t think he could''ve forgiven Lacroix if she''d made him miss Music even if, as it is, he can barely concentrate on the keyboard in front of him. They''re supposed to be doing jazz improv today; listening to some old stuff, writing it down, then working their own arrangement over the top. Eli flubs it so bad Mr. Browne asks if he''s doing okay once everyone else has left. Eli nods and mutters something noncommittal, the scampers out as soon as he can.


    Just soon enough to round a corner and run straight into Arthur Lacroix and his wall of goons.


    "You listen to me, Drake," Arthur is saying, although it''s hard for Eli to hear. His head is still ringing from where Arthur has slammed him up against the wall. "Here''s how it''s gonna be. When Mom asks you a question, you fucking answer it. When you waste Mom''s time, people die. If people die, I''m gonna start to think you want it that way. You hear me?" Over Arthur''s shoulder, Lance pounds a fist into his other palm.


    "Fuck you, Lacroix." Eli shoves forward. He''s taller than Arthur but Arthur is easily twice as broad. Which is why Eli feels a thrilling jolt of shock when Arthur stumbles backwards. "You don''t get to touch me," Eli adds, voice hardening with confidence. He faced down a murderous monster. He can deal with Arthur and his backup dancers. "And you don''t get to threaten me, either. You think I''m scared because Marlowe ratted me out to your mom��"


    "I did not!"


    "��well I''m not, Lacroix. I''ve done nothing wrong. Self-defense isn''t a crime."


    Arthur''s face twists into something ugly, like raw dough caught around a bicycle wheel. "Your daddy teach you that, Drake? Before he smashed his brains out on the steering whee��"


    He doesn''t get to finish. Not when Eli''s fist is making friends with his turned-up little nose.


    Arthur goes down. Hard. The force of it surprises everyone, Eli most of all. He''s thrown punches before��not often, and not proudly��and it was never anything like this. Mostly, he''d just ended up hurting his hand.


    Today, his hand does not hurt. Which is good, because Lance and Val are on him in the next moment. It''s nothing coordinated or particularly effective, just a kind of awkward shoving match in the hall. Eli is massively out-muscled and yet, when Val grabs his arm, he twists out of it with ease. When Lance goes for a punch in the gut, Eli barely feels it.


    That''s . . . not normal.


    "What the��?" Lance is backing up, shaking his fist like it hurts.


    "Jesus, dude. Look at his eyes . . ."


    "Get back!" Arthur is on his feet again, scrambling backwards and gesturing for his goons to do the same. "Holy shit she was right." He''s staring at Eli like suddenly he''s the peryton. Then, before Eli can react: "I know what you are, Drake!" he says, and for the first time there''s real fear in his voice. "Mom warned me. She''ll hunt you down, man. That''s what she does. Keeps the world safe from things like you."


    "What the hell are you talking about, man?" Except Eli knows what it sounds like Arthur is talking about, so: "And you wanna repeat that into a mic for me? I''m sure a lotta people will be real interested in words like those."


    Arthur looks confused for one moment. Then his eyes go very round and all the color drains from his already-pale face. "I didn''t mean��" he starts. Then visibly stops himself, summoning back up the angry. "Nice try," he says. "But it won''t work. I''m keeping my eye on you, Drake. You''ll slip up eventually. Your kind always do."


    Eli would have a witty retort, he thinks, but for the fact he''s too busy trying to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Excuse me?"


    Arthur, of all things, goes bright red. Even Val and Lance are starting to look at him oddly. "I�� You��" he splutters. Then makes a sound halfway between outrage and disgust, and storms off.


    Eli just watches him go. " . . . the hell?" he finally asks. The empty hallway declines to answer.

 "Its not 1692 anymore. Witchcraft isnt illegal."

    When he finally finds Zoe at lunchtime��dressed in an Attack on Titan Survey Corps uniform��she double takes.


    "What happened to your face?" she asks, incredulous.


    "Huh?" He didn''t think the Goon Squad roughed him up that badly.


    Zoe makes a gesture in her own general facial area. "I seem to recall a lot more light wounds last night."


    Eli puts his own hand on his cheek before he realizes she means the injuries from his fight with the peryton, not Arthur Lacroix. "Oh. Yeah, they were gone this morning. Guess your magic potion worked, huh?"


    Zoe gives him a very strange look. "Ee, you realize it''s just, like, herbs and honey, right? It''s not . . . I mean, it''s never"��another vague gesture��"before."


    "So you''re more powerful than you thought. That''s good, right?" Because if Zoe''s a witch, maybe it won''t matter Eli''s a monster.


    "I guess . . ." Though Zoe looks like she can''t decide between being proud and being scared. She finally settles on resigned, sitting down on the retaining wall behind the science block. "I heard you got the third degree from Lady Lacroix this morning," she says.


    It''s as good a segue as any, so Eli takes it. He tells Zoe about Lacroix, senior, and Lacroix, junior. The latter in particular elicits a great deal of consternation and warm hands, running across his cheeks and his limbs, checking him for injuries.


    When she''s convinced Eli''s not going to drop dead of internal hemorrhaging, Zoe sits back with a, "Well. My morning wasn''t nearly as exciting. I''ve been trying to scout shadows."


    "Any luck?"


    Zoe gestures towards the overcast, steel-grey sky with a self-deprecating twist of her lips. "Short of shining a flashlight on everyone . . ." She drops her hands. "I think I may have found something else, though. A locator spell."


    "To find the sorcerer?" It still feels strange saying the word out loud like it actually means something. Like it''s a Real Thing existing in the Real World.


    "Kinda," Zoe says. She starts rummaging around in her satchel, eventually pulling out a thick, leather-bound book.


    This is Zoe''s grimoire, her book of magic. Eli''s seen it before. It has rough-edged, hand-pressed paper and looks ancient, but was really brought back from San Fran by Mr. Chung as a gift. Bits of leaves and feathers stick out from various points, the pages covered with a combination of Zoe''s overly ornate handwriting, colorful magical diagrams, and not-half-bad sketches of things Zoe''s seen while wandering the woods around Rosemont.


    Zoe opens the grimoire to a page that sports a valiant attempt at sketching the peryton. Next to it, she''s written the directions for a spell.


    "The problem," she says, "is we need a piece of the thing we''re trying to locate."


    "That''s going to be hard, given we don''t know what we''re looking for."


    "Hah!" Zoe announces, a devious sort of gleam creeping into her expression. "No, see. All we need to do is get something from the��"


    "Hey, guys."


    Zoe''s mouth clicks shut with such force Eli''s surprised her eyes don''t roll from the jolt. When he looks up, it''s into the gormless face of Jake Smith.


    "Hey," Eli says.


    "Whatcha up to?" Jake shuffles anxiously a bit, then sits down on the other side of Zoe. She''s already halfway through stuffing her grimoire back into her bag.


    "English assignment," she says and, well. That''s it. They''re not going to tell Jake what''s going on.


    "Oh," he says, leaning forward just enough to glance between Zoe and Eli. "M-maybe I can help?"


    "It''s fine." Zoe waves a hand. "We''ve got it under control."


    "Oh." Jake almost visibly melts, slumping in on himself, and Eli does everything he can not to sigh.


    Trust me, Eli wants to say, this one isn''t one you want in on.


    He wants to say it, but he doesn''t. Instead, they sit there in awkward silence until Jake tries, "I like your outfit. You look nice," to Zoe. That''s all the encouragement she needs to launch into a Shakespeare-length monologue about fabric and patterns and the impracticality of converting the two-dimensional into three.


    Eli''s heard it before, though it still makes him grin, because listening to Zoe talk so passionately always does. So he keeps half an ear open even as he pulls out his phone and earbuds and stars messing around with his Launchpad app.


    Attack on Titan has a pretty cool theme song, he recalls. Maybe he can make a remix. Zoe will love it.


    <hr>


    Zoe does love the remix, when Eli plays it for her at the end of lunch. He drops some Vocaloid and some Nyan Cat in there too, and the whole thing is a mess but Zoe thinks it''s hilarious, which is all that matters. She makes him send it to her and he calls it "ATTACK ON WEABOO (��.��.:*?�� REMIX)" when he does.


    "I''m going to play it as my entrance music for Physics class," she tells him.


    That''s where she''s headed. Eli, meanwhile has Math. Math with Jake, in fact.


    "She likes you," Jake says, as they''re walking the hall to class.


    "Huh?" Eli is still thinking about the mix. It wasn''t great, but if he swaps out some of the back-beats and re-keys Nyan Cat . . .


    "Zoe," Jake is saying. "She really likes you." Eli doesn''t miss the emphasis.


    "Nah, man," he says. "It''s not like that. Zoe''s great. But it''s not like that."


    "It could be, though," Jake insists. "If you wanted it to. Girl like that, she''d do anything for a guy like you, y''know?"


    Eli starts to get a queasy sort of feeling in his gut. "What''s that supposed to mean?" He has a sudden odd twitch across the back of his neck. Like he''s trying to raise hackles that aren''t there.


    Jake shifts, edgy, and he won''t meet Eli''s eye. "N-nothing," he says. "F-forget I said it."


    "Yeah," says Eli. "Whatever, Whitebread."


    <hr>


    Math is trig, stuff with angles and radians and whatever. Eli''s always liked Math. It''s sort of like music, he thinks; describing something beautiful in neat formulas and equations, distilling it down into its most perfect parts. Math doesn''t come naturally, not like the music does, but he still loves learning it and struggling his way through exercises and theories named after guys who sound like they''ve just walked off the set of Game of Thrones.


    Zoe tells him loving Math makes him weird which, Duh. What was your first clue, Zee?


    There''s a lot of magic in mathematics, though. Sacred geometries and mystical numbers. Eli looked it up once. He makes a note to mention it to Zoe next time she complains about her own classes.


    Speaking of Zoe, and hated classes; they have English together next. Eli and English do not get along, which is to say, Eli and Ms. Worthington do not get along. Eli''s convinced she hated him the second she heard his voice, and has been on a mission to prove he doesn''t speak "proper" English ever since. The last paper Ms. Worthington assigned was an essay on the symbolism and syntactic structures of any great modern poet. She''d distributed worksheets of Lewis and Yeats and Kipling as "inspiration." Eli had chosen Flavor Flav instead. Less through any great love of hip hop and more for the pinched expression on Ms. Worthington''s face as she''d handed back the paper (B minus) and said, I would have thought the nephew of a Sheriff''s deputy would have more respect. To which Eli had been able to reply, utterly truthfully, It was Addi''s idea.


    Eli grins as he ditches Jake and heads to Zoe''s locker. His good mood lasts exactly until he gets to the corner, and hears Zoe''s unhappy cry of, "What are you doing? You can''t touch that!"Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Eli sprints the rest of the way, shouldering aside the gathered crowd of gawkers in a cloud of indignant protests. When he reaches Zoe, he''s somehow not surprised to find Ms. Lacroix there as well.


    "This," Lacroix is saying, "is witchcraft!" She''s standing in front of Zoe''s open locker, holding up a book she''s obviously just pulled from inside. The Complete Book of Witchcraft is dog-eared and well-thumbed. It''s not Zoe''s favorite book on the subject, but Eli knows it is the first one she bought, and it has sentimental value.


    "So?" Zoe snaps. "Its not 1692 anymore. Witchcraft isn''t illegal." Her voice has that thin, thready wobble that means she''s trying not to cry. Eli knows he''s not the only one who hears it, judging from the sniggering laugher of the assembled crowd.


    "Sadly, no," Lacroix is saying. "But murder is."


    "M-murder?" Shrill and panicked, now. "I haven''t��"


    "I''m sure you''re aware of the situation." Lacroix is pulling things out as she talks; books, bags of dried herbs, bottles of infused oils. "There is undoubtedly an . . . occult slant to the killings. As an investigator, it is my responsibility to follow up all leads." Punctuated with an impeccably manicured sneer over Zoe''s triple goddess paten.


    There''s a box at Lacroix''s feet and she drops the dish into it with a metallic clatter. Zoe gives a distraught shriek, goes to lunge towards it. She only gets halfway when Lacroix''s boot stops her, pushing her back by the shoulder.


    "Ah ah aah," Lacroix sing-songs. "That''s evidence."


    She''s getting off on it, on humiliating Zoe in front of the school. Eli gets that hot, shivery feeling again. Like scales shifting beneath his skin, claws flexing behind his fingers.


    A voice says:


    "That''s illegal, is what it is."


    A voice that belongs to Eli. But there''s something about it he hasn''t heard before; deeper and more commanding. Older.


    He steps forward, next to Zoe. His fingers brush briefly against her shoulder. I''m here. I''ve got your back.


    Lacroix''s split-skull smile gets broader. "Elias Drake," she says. "I should have known."


    "What you''re doing is illegal," Eli says. "It''s a violation of the Fourth Amendment to search a student''s locker without probable cause."


    "Is that so?" Lacroix uses the voice Eli''s heard Morgan use more than once. The one that has an silent, mere mortal tacked onto the end. At least he knows where Morgan gets it from. "Well, Mister Drake, I''m afraid I have to inform you that the law is a little more complicated on these matters than Law & Order may make it seem." She pulls an athame from the locker and makes a tisking noise. "Unacceptable."


    "It''s blunt!" Zoe protests, even as the knife joins the rest of the items in the box.


    "You can''t do this!" Eli says. "People like you think you can do whatever you want, because we''re just kids. But you can''t. We have rights too. If my Dad��" His jaw slams shut on the words fast enough to hurt, but not fast enough to stop the way Lacroix''s expression sharpens and twists into something vicious.


    "If you father, what, Elias?" she says. "Were here? Well, he isn''t, is he? And your aunt . . . I''m sure you don''t want to make things harder for her than they already are."


    The words feel like a physical blow, the threat behind them obvious.


    "You��" Eli tires, but he can''t make anything else come out. Not past the sudden logjam of fear and impotent rage in the back of his throat.


    Fortunately, he doesn''t have to say anything. Not when Zoe announces:


    "Eli''s Dad might not be here, but mine will be. He''s not a lawyer, but he is a millionaire. And, trust me. The second he hears about this? He''s gonna sue the shit outta you." In her hand, she''s holding her phone, text message already sent.


    <hr>


    And that, more-or-less, is how Eli and Zoe wind up spending the afternoon sitting outside Principal Malek''s office, while Mr. Chung engages in a shouting match inside.


    To say Zoe''s father had been unhappy to be summoned to the school would be an understatement. Lacroix had already hauled off Zoe''s stuff by the time the Chungs'' Tesla rolled up into the school carpark, which left only one outlet for Mr. Chung''s outrage. Words like "racial profiling" and "Constitutional rights" and "freedom of religion" have been thrown around a lot. Eli listens to them all through the thin wall of the Principal''s office, Zoe crying quietly against his shoulder.


    "I d-don''t even k-know why I''m crying," she tells him.


    "''Cause you know Lacroix was wrong," Eli replies.


    "She took my stuff."


    "Yeah."


    "My tools. We have to . . . the peryton. I can''t find it if . . ."


    Eli sighs. "Don''t worry ''bout that right now, ''kay?" he says. His heart hurts, like it has a big, Dad-shaped hole in the centre of it, trying to suck the rest of him in. He hopes Aunt Addi is okay, hopes Lacroix was just messing with him. Surely she wouldn''t really . . . what? Get Addi fired? Just because Eli called her out?


    Who''s he kidding. She would totally do something like that.


    Through the wall, he hears:


    "For god''s sake, Max. You think I like this any more than you do? Having that . . . that harpy claw her way through the school? Things are tense enough as it is, but I can''t be seen not to be cooperating with an investigation."


    "It''s not an investigation!" Mr. Chung''s usually so chill. It''s strange to hear him angry. He sounds like a completely different person. "If there were any real suspicion against the kids the Sheriff would be here, doing things properly. This is all just Yvonne''s personal crusade."


    "Even if it is," Principal Malek says, "the school can''t afford to make enemies of the Lyddan Group."


    "Fuck the Lyddans!" Mr. Chung snarls. Eli feels Zoe start at the curse. "You can''t afford to make an enemy of me. I will sue, Asif. I''ll sue this school, this district, the Sheriff, the goddamn Lyddans, and I''ll sue you, personally, if I ever, ever hear of anything like this happening again, do you hear me?"


    "Wow," Eli whispers. "Your dad is kinda mad."


    "Ssh." Zoe isn''t crying any more, but she''s still huddled against Eli''s side, ear pressed against the wall. "I''m listening."


    "��can''t take on the Group," Principal Malek is saying. "There isn''t enough money in the world for that. Don''t you think it hasn''t been tried before? For god''s sake, Max, be reasonable. Just tell the kids to keep their heads down and this will all blow over. They haven''t done anything wrong. Eventually, even Yvonne will have to admit as much."


    "And in the meantime? She broke into Zoe''s locker. She stole my daughter''s stuff, in front of the entire goddamn school, and no one did anything to stop her. You know Zoe. Things aren''t always easy for her, and now this on top of everything?"


    There''s a pause, a faint noise that doesn''t quite make it through the wall. Then, Principal Malek: "I''ll speak with Yvonne. I can''t promise anything, but . . . if she won''t listen, Jim''s wife plays tennis with Maryam." Eli thinks Principal Malek means the Sheriff, Jim Peters. He has no idea who Maryam is, or what tennis has to do with anything.


    Whatever it is, Mr. Chung seems appeased, given the next words he says are, "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. I just . . . it''s Zoe, you know? My baby girl. I can''t . . . She was in tears, Asif. No father wants to see that." By the end, his voice is nearly inaudible. Principal Malek''s reply definitely is.


    Eli waits with Zoe for about another ten minutes before Mr. Chung emerges from the office. He and Principal Malek thank each other cordially and shake hands as if they hadn''t just been engaged in a giant screaming match. Adults, Eli thinks, are really weird.


    Mr. Chung talks to Zoe first. She''s still cuddled against Eli''s side, his arm around her shoulders, but they both straighten up and shift apart under Mr. Chung''s scrutiny. He just gives them a gentle smile and hugs his daughter, murmuring something into her hair. Eli looks away, a weird jumble of emotions churning in his gut at the sight, until he feels a hand on his shoulder. When he looks up, Mr. Chung is smiling at him.


    "I''ve spoken to your aunt," he says, "you''re welcome to have dinner at our place, if you like."


    Eli shoots a quick glance at Zoe, but she''s nodding and mouthing something that looks like peryton behind her dad''s back, so, "Okay. Thanks, Mr. Chung."


    Mr. Chung gives a wry little smile. "Any time, Elias," he says. "And, please. Call me Max."


    <hr>


    At the Chungs'', they make pizzas and eat them sitting on the floor at the coffee table in front of the TV. Pizzas at the Chung household are concoctions of ingredients like goat''s fetta and herb-baked potatoes, but they''re pretty good. Ms. Chung is just as incensed as her husband over the day''s events, and gives both Zoe and Eli a long lecture about power and authority.


    "Never confuse the two," Ms. Chung tells them, eyes intense beneath thick glasses and pastel pink hair. "People with power will try and make you. They''ll say you should obey them because they''re powerful. True power is authority, and authority is instilled by legitimacy; by the notion that the power someone holds is instilled by a system that you trust and you agree to. There will often be times in your life when you won''t be in a position to push back against someone who has power, but not authority. Times like today. Sometimes you just have to hold your tongue and wait it out. But always remember that abuse of power reflects on those who perform it, not on you."


    Ms. Chung is an odd lady, sometimes. She doesn''t speak much, but when she does, it''s always intense.


    Eli isn''t quite sure he understands what point she''s trying to make, but he nods along and tucks the thought away in his mind for later.


    Once dinner is eaten, they excuse themselves and head out into the yard, after a brief detour via Zoe''s room to fetch some of her spellcasting kit.


    The Chungs'' home is a massive, sprawling building sitting at the top of Jefferson Lane. It doesn''t have a yard so much as a clearing in the forest; doesn''t have neighbors so much as it has adjoining properties hidden behind the trees. Jefferson Lane is the second highest street and the Chungs'' is the second largest house in Rosemont Heights. The only one that''s bigger belongs to Widow Adeline, whose lurking, black mansion Eli''s only ever seen at a distance, and whose owner reminds Eli of Cruella de Vil, right down the long, tapered cigarette holder.


    Tonight, they avoid the Adeline house, skirting around the perimeter fence��the only gated mansion in a gated community��to get into the woods at the base of Mount Rhodes.


    They''ve worked out a sweep pattern, staring here and progressing down the hill until they hit Old Coe Road. From there, they''ll head along the edge of the woods towards the gas station where the first body was found.


    It''s the body that jogs Eli''s memory. "Lacroix told me there''d been six murders, not two," he tells Zoe. The woods around them are shadowed and dim. They have maybe an hour before they run out of sunlight.


    "Six?" Zoe says. "Do you believe her?"


    "I don''t know."


    "She could''ve just been trying to mess with you."


    "Yeah," says Eli. "But why?"


    Zoe just shrugs. "Why does she think you''re a murderer in the first place?"


    "Because of Lance, I guess."


    "There''s a bit of a difference between biting a bully and murder, though, isn''t there? I wasn''t aware schoolyard fights were probable cause to suspect someone of being a demon-summoning serial killer."


    Eli can''t help the way his hand comes up to touch against his lips. The teeth behind them are neat and square and straight, not sharp and jagged. Just like his eyes are dull and brown and his skin is smooth and soft and significantly lacking in the spines department. And this is it, he thinks. This is the part where he turns to Zoe and says, I think I''m turning into a monster. When I bit Lance . . . something happened to me, something is happening to me, and I don''t know what it is or why and I''m scared.


    Because he is. Eli is scared. He''s been trying not to think about it but, there it is. Sharp teeth and golden eyes and if anyone could understand��anyone in the world��he knows it would be Zoe. So he should tell her.


    But he doesn''t.

 "At least Lacroix will know it wasnt you."

    The circuit around town is a bust. Zoe picks up and examines several black feathers along the way but Eli knows, without knowing how he knows, that they aren''t feathers from the peryton. Several times he gets a strange feeling, like he''s being watched, but he never catches sight of anything unusual and nothing jumps them from the shadows.


    Eventually, they end up back outside the Chungs'', Zoe regarding her feathers with a critical eye.


    "Well," she says, "I can make up some of the locator charms with these tonight. We can meet up tomorrow to test them out."


    Eli nods in agreement, then they say their goodbyes. Zoe offers him a lift back to his place ("I''m sure Dad won''t mind"), but Eli declines. The clouds have finally lifted and the sky above is clear and studded with stars, moon hanging like a big silver grin against the dark.


    It''s getting cold, but Eli doesn''t mind. He likes night times out here. Back home��back in his previous home��the city was so bright that the closest they ever got to dark was a kind of dull, yellow twilight. In Rosemont, there are actually stars.


    Eli is so busy watching them, in fact, that he doesn''t notice the peryton until he almost runs into it.


    It''s just standing in the middle of the road, at the end of Zoe''s street, watching him. It''s definitely there for him, judging by the way it rucks up its wings and lowers its antlers when it meets his eyes.


    It growls, one scythe-clawed talon pawing at the bitumen, and Eli has exactly enough time to say:


    "Fuck!"


    Then it leaps, and he runs.


    He means to head back up Jefferson, back to the Chungs'' place, but the peryton is one step ahead and gets there before he does. It moves in a half-run, half-glide, the gusts from the downstrokes of its wings heavy enough to make Eli stumble. He adjusts his trajectory, into the trees that separate the Chungs'' and Window Adeline''s. He has a mad, half-formed idea that maybe he can boost Adeline''s security fence and can already see the dark edges of it between the branches when he realizes just what a stupid idea that would truly be.


    The peryton, after all, can fly. Eli, not so much.


    He can hear the peryton behind him, crashing and lumbering through the wood. Eli has one vicious, futile little moment of joy to realize he was, at least, right about it being more awkward here than in the open.


    On the other hand, so is Eli. The woods are dark and he''s not even running half-speed. Every second step feels like the ground is shifting beneath him, piles of half-decayed leaves and long-fallen logs just waiting to open up under his feet. To send him plummeting to the ground where, this time, there won''t be any miraculous save-by-magic. He should''ve gotten an amulet from Zoe. She even made some, except Lacroix took them, because of course she did. And now Eli is going to die here, in the woods behind Window Adeline''s mansion, torn to shreds by a deer-eagle that shouldn''t even exist because why not?


    And then, up ahead, the path runs out.


    Eli''s been lapping the mansion, keeping the fence to his right as he runs to avoid getting lost in the woods. So he''s not lost, but he''s never been out here before and what he was not expecting, not at all, is the massive jut of rock that rears up ahead. The mansion fence ends along the edge of it, and the rock is too high and too sheer to climb. Eli can lunge left except the forest starts there in earnest, dark and closed-in and real and Eli''s hands slam into the stone before he realizes that he''s trapped.


    That he''s trapped himself.


    He howls into the night; terror and frustration. This can''t be how it ends. It just can''t. He''s going to die a virgin sacrifice in the woods and Zoe is going to blame herself, for the rest of her life, even though there was nothing she could have done.


    "At least Lacroix will know I wasn''t you," Eli tells the peryton.


    When he turns, it''s behind him. Pacing, but no longer running. Like it knows there''s nowhere left for him to go.


    Eli swallows, thick and heavy. The hot tingling beneath his skin is back. Something big and curled and ready to spring.


    "Screw it." Eli has nothing, just himself and his backpack. He drops the latter. "Guess if I''m gonna die," he says, "I''m gonna die fighting." Then he lunges.


    So does the peryton.


    Something . . . happens. The hot, shivery feeling explodes beneath Eli''s skin. He hears fabric ripping, feels his skin stretch. It hurts, but it''s a good hurt; like standing up after a lifetime sitting down. His scream gets deeper, something shifting in the way his body moves through the air. The peryton suddenly starts to look a lot smaller.


    Eli hits it half-way. It gets caught in his momentum and they both go crashing backwards into a tree. It''s not a small tree but the wood makes a crack like thunder when they hit it, the entire thing tilting backwards, branches shaking.Stolen novel; please report.


    The peryton shrieks its horrible shriek, but there''s something different about it now, something panicked. This close, it smells even more like old meat and flaking rust and its feathers feel crusty beneath Eli''s palms. It struggles, but Eli is stronger and he has it pinned.


    "Hah! Didn''t expect that, did you, assfeather?"


    There''s something different about Eli''s voice. It sounds deeper, but with a strange, almost electronic edge to it. Like distortion from a bad mic, run through Autotune set two octaves down.


    The sound of his own voice startles him, and the peryton notices; it lets loose another awful shriek, then its maw opens and razorblade teeth sink into Eli''s shoulder.


    It hurts, and he roars, falling backwards. He staggers back and something about his body feels very strange. Heavy and wrong. Like he has a kid bear-hugging his shoulders and another wrapped around his waist. Not heavy enough to be a problem, but awkward.


    He doesn''t have time to think about it. Not when the peryton pushes forward again; talons and teeth flashing. Eli doesn''t think, just lashes out with a hand, and��


    And it''s not a hand. It''s moving in front of his face where his hand should be, but it isn''t a hand.


    It''s a claw. A huge, dark-scaled claw. Attached to a huge, dark-scaled limb with heavy spikes between the wrist and elbow.


    "What the��"


    The claw, Eli''s claw, connects with the peryton''s face. Talons gouge four thick rents through its flesh, thick black streamers of blood, of ichor, trailing in their wake.


    The blow knocks the peryton to the side. It rolls across the ground like a broken doll before finally hitting a tree and coming to a stop. It struggles weakly, but Eli isn''t looking at it. He''s looking at himself.


    "I''m a . . . a dragon?"


    It sounds ridiculous, but he has no other words for what he sees; a scaled belly and clawed hind-limbs. A long, dark tail. And wings, rainbow with iridescence, arcing out above his shoulders.


    "Oh, hells yeah! I''m a freakin'' dragon! That''s it, you stag-headed freak of nature! You''re going down!"


    The peryton looks impressed by neither Eli''s words nor his posturing (dragon posturing!), but it has managed to get to its feet. It''s staring at Eli now, its one good eye gone as wild as a real deer, confronted by a real predator. When it opens its wings and tenses its legs, Eli knows it''s about to fly, not fight.


    "Oh no you don''t!"


    He catches it halfway up, sort of. His own wings open and beat against the air, but achieve very little bar stirring up a lot of leaves. The peryton is fast, but Eli is bigger, and his claw closes around its leg as it attempts to run. He pulls, and the thing drops from the sky, slamming back down onto the dirt with a whimper.


    The fight afterwards is not, in retrospect, much of one at all. Eli is larger and stronger but has no idea how to use his new body. The peryton is faster and more motivated; when fleeing fails, it turns on Eli in a whirlwind of talons and teeth.


    His new hide is up to the challenge, thick and scaled like kevlar, but it still feels like trying to hold onto an angry cat. And so, instead, they end up rolling across the small clearing between the rocks and the security fence, spitting and shrieking and really doing very little. Because, yeah. That''s the other thing:


    Eli does not want to kill the peryton.


    Which is to say, he knows he should. He just . . . can''t. He''s never killed anything bigger than a spider before. He hasn''t gone fishing or shot buck or slaughtered chickens. There''s a gulf, he thinks, a big one, between having his jaws around something''s neck and biting down hard enough to sever it.


    Eli realizes this, of course, while said jaws are clamped around said neck.


    He can''t let the peryton go. It''s killed people and, near as Eli knows, will kill more. Someone has to stop it. Someone who is Eli. Someone who��


    It''s a lucky shot, really, that decides things for him. He''s got the struggling peryton pinned, huge jaws clamped around its throat. He''s trying to hold down its thrashing limbs as he does, and thinks he''s doing a pretty good job. At least, he does until the monster manages to get one wing free.


    It hurts, being hit by a peryton''s wings. Eli had always thought wings were gentle, delicate things. But no, apparently they''re like feather-covered boxing gloves, and this one slams right up into his throat. It''s a lucky shot, but it leaves him gagging, rearing back and struggling for breath. The peryton does not waste any time as he does; one free wing turns into two, then two wings and a claw. It''s the claw that gets him, raking painfully across the soft scales beneath his forelimb. Eli goes down, hard, onto his back, mind blanked from the shock of the sudden, searing agony. The next thing he knows, the peryton is launching itself into the air; a dark, winged shape rising fast above the treelike.


    Eli doesn''t think; his body just moves. Just flips itself over even as strong back legs brace themselves against the ground.


    He doesn''t even need to fly. One huge leap and he''s caught up to the peryton, claws sinking into the hot flesh of its belly. It screams, the noise dying into a wet gurgle as Eli''s teeth close around its throat and snap shut. Hot, filthy blood spills out across his snout and leaves him coughing, and it''s about then that gravity decides to cough politely.


    Moments later, the peryton lands with a sharp crack on the forest floor, followed fast by Eli, whose massive bulk lands right on top.


    After that, the peryton does not move.


    Eli does, though it takes him a few moments. Hitting the ground hurt. He doesn''t think anything is broken, but it knocked the breath out of his lungs and the thoughts out of his head. He groans, claws twitching in the dirt.


    From the corner of his eye, he sees movement. It''s accompanied by a sound, a flat little rhythmic noise: plec-plec-plec.


    The fall left Eli''s vision kind of hazy, and also upside-down, given the way he landed. He struggles to his feet, stumbles, then remembers four is fine and he doesn''t need to shoot for two. As the world resolves itself, the movement gets closer. It still takes Eli a moment to process what he''s seeing.


    It''s Window Adeline. Her moon-white hair is in rollers and the feathers on the collar of her silk bathrobe flutter softly in the breeze. She''s not wearing make-up, which means she has no eyebrows, and coupled with her milky, translucent skin she looks alien in the moonlight.


    She''s also clapping. That''s what the noise is.


    "Well," she says, although with her accent it comes out more like vell. "For your first try, not so bad, I would think. A little sloppy, but we can fix that. You have beautiful form, boy."


    "What?" Eli says, or tries to. His voice comes out more like a croaking hiss, sucked out even as his body feels as if it''s crumpling in on itself.


    The world tilts, and suddenly seems to get much larger. The last thing Eli sees are his hands��his human hands��utterly failing to stop his head from slamming into the forest floor.

 "What you have just experienced is a Hatching."

    When Eli next wakes, he''s in bed he doesn''t know, in a room he''s never seen.


    He''s also naked. And there''s a cat, sitting on the pillow next to his head.


    The cat is not pleased when Eli bolts upright in a sudden rush of panic. Things come back to him in flashes; his flight through the woods, his transformation, his fight with the peryton. Widow Adeline.


    Eli has never been inside Widow Adeline''s house, but the decor around him certainly screams "elderly woman." The bed he''s in has four huge, carved wooden posts, and the duvet is both overly plump and makes a slightly crunchy plastic sound when he moves. The room looks like a guest room, with heavy velvet drapes and shelves of leather-bound books and odd curios. The only light comes from an ornate brass fitting on the wall; the sort with cherubs that looks like it was retrofitted from gas to electricity.


    The sheets, Eli notes, are covered in blood.


    It''s not his blood��a quick once-over reveals no injuries worse than bruises��but he is absolutely covered in it, and the sight makes his lip curl in disgust.


    No one else is in the room, just Eli and the cat, so he gets out of the blood-stained bed.


    His satchel is sitting on a chair nearby, a little folded card perched on top. The inside of the card is full of the sort of old-timey looping handwriting that Eli has to squint at to decipher. It says:


    <blockquote>


    Don''t fuss about the sheets. Take a shower. There''s a robe if you need it. I will be downstairs waiting. �� Ms. A.


    </blockquote>


    Eli does not need the robe, given he has his gym clothes at the bottom of his backpack. They aren''t the most fragrant thing in the world but, on the other hand, they aren''t pink and feathered like the robe is.


    The note says to take a shower, so Eli does. The bathroom has brass fittings and a real-deal claw-foot bathtub, but the hot water works just fine. He doesn''t linger, just in and out fast enough to get most of the blood off. His hair''s still filthy but Widow Adeline doesn''t have the stuff to clean it (of course). He just hopes the blood doesn''t show against the black.


    Cleaned of blood and stinking of gym, Eli leaves the bedroom. Widow Adeline''s house smells like old lady and cat, and looks like the sort of place a Harry Potter movie would be filmed in. Everything is dark wood paneling and bright Persian rugs, leather-bound books and strange curios and patterned silk drapery that a hundred years ago would''ve been described with words like "exotic." The lighting is dim and originates from wrought brass wall scones hung beneath carved cornices and beside old oil paintings of bucolic medieval scenes.


    There is, Eli notes, a distinct dragon motif to the decorations: tables have scaled claws carved into the feet; winged serpents dangle illuminated orbs from their claws; Chinese long roll their eyes wildly on faded silk tapestries. Eli flexes his fingers, feeling the memory of scale and claw, and hopes the theme is a good omen.


    The hallway ends at an enormous, carved staircase that swoops down into a foyer with a black-and-white marble laid out in squares like a giant chessboard. A pair of huge French doors to the left of the staircase are open, the room beyond lit more brightly that the rest of the house. When Eli enters, he finds Widow Adeline, sitting in a high-backed leather chair, a cat on her lap and a delicate cup of espresso in her hands.


    "Mister Drake," she says. "Come, sit. Eat. You have questions, I assume." Widow Adeline is still in her robe, though she''s taken the time to reapply make-up and wrap her hair in a silk scarf. She looks like a faded movie starlet or an aging princess, all pencil-sharp brows and tight plum lips.


    "How do you know my name?"


    There''s a chair across from Widow Adeline, and Eli perches on the edge. A nearby coffee table sports a huge cut crystal bowl of beef jerky. The sight is both completely incongruous and also makes Eli''s stomach growl and his nostrils flare with the scent.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Widow Adeline notices. "Eat," she says again. "You will be hungry."


    Eli is, ravenously so. He''s never been a huge fan of jerky but something about the smell��the meat and spice��has his mouth watering. He''s eaten three pieces before he''s really thought about it. "What . . .?" he starts, then falters, unsure.


    "I will make things simple," Widow Adeline says. "What you have just experienced is a Hatching. It is the awakening of your true self; a rare and portentous event. You, my boy, are the most recent bearer of a legacy that has protected humanity for centuries. One of the chosen who are imbued with great power and, in return, a sacred obligation. The name you will come to know yourself by is xyl''tkkan, the Winged Guardians. The name you may know yourself by now is ''dragon.''"


    There''s a silence, long and strange and filled only by the occasional meowing of cats and the sound of Eli''s chewing. Finally, he says:


    "I''m a dragon?"


    This earns him an arched eyebrow. "I would rather have thought the wings and tail gave it away."


    "I''m not a dragon now, though?"


    "My dear boy," Widow Adeline says, "you are now and ever have you been one of the xyl''tkkan. Your Hatching merely unlocked the potential within you, while your Veil allows you to go unnoticed amongst those you must protect."


    "My ''veil?''"


    Widow Adeline gestures toward him. "This soft skin you now wear."


    "Oh."


    "The tkkan have many enemies, my dear, and they far outnumber you. You are powerful, but you would do well to hide that power until it is most needed."


    Eli considers this. "So there are, like, other dragons? But they hide?"


    "The tkkan are, as you would say, an ''endangered species.'' They are secretive, even with their own kind. And for good reason."


    "Right." This makes sense, sort of. At least, Eli''s read comics, so he gets the general idea. "And how do you know all this and why are you telling me?"


    Widow Adeline laughs; the deep, husky, half-cough of a lifetime smoker. "My dear," she says, "I have been awaiting your arrival for a very, very long time. As I said, Hatchings are tremendously rare. But they are foretold. Not the specifics, of course��not the who or the strictly when��but the where. These portents are closely guarded by the tkkan and their most trusted allies, and mentors are sent to watch Hatching-sites, to find and guide young wyrmlings into their power."


    Eli parses this. "You''re here to teach me to be a good dragon because a prophecy said so?"


    "I do so love the bald-faced plainness of the young." Said with one slight, ironic smirk. Then: "Yes, my dear."


    "So what is it? Being a ''good dragon''?"


    "There are creatures, like the one you slew earlier."


    "The peryton?"


    A nod. "They are the as��kki; beings born of evil magic that prey on humans. It is the sacred charge of the xyl''tkkan to destroy them and their masters."


    "That''s a lot of fancy made-up words."


    "The language is Xyl''tha, the Divine Tongue. Your true self will find speaking it as natural as breath."


    "I can already talk, though," Eli says. "When I''m . . . I mean . . ." He makes a vague gesture, mind shying away from the words. When I''m a dragon.


    "Of course, my dear," Widow Adeline says. "The tongues of men, of asur, stay with you in true skin. You are xyl''tkkan, not an animal."


    Eli sighs. His head hurts from the fancy words and his jaw hurts from chewing thick chunks of jerky. He finished the bowl a while back and is still ravenously hungry.


    "This is all . . . a lot," he finally says. It feels like an understatement.


    "Of course," says Widow Adeline, unflappable and with a hint of sarcasm around the edges. "You should return home, eat and sleep. Tomorrow, you will return, and we will begin training."


    "Yeah, oka�� wait. What? ''Training?''"


    But Widow Adeline continues as if he hasn''t spoken. "Tell anyone who asks that you have been hired as my gardener."


    "Gardener? Hey, wait a second, lady, I��"


    "No arguments, my dear. You will find yourself increasingly in need of an excuse to account for your time. This way, you have one. You will be remunerated for your service, of course."


    "Yeah, but about that��"


    "You will find adults rarely question the illusion of entrepreneurial initiative amongst the young." Widow Adeline is smirking in a way that leaves no question the evil old bat enjoys steamrolling across Eli''s objections. "Especially when it involves assisting the frail and elderly."


    Something tells Eli Widow Adeline and "frail" aren''t exactly the best of friends��Eli had to''ve gotten into the house somehow, after all��but all he does is sigh and admit defeat.


    "I''ll think about it," he says.


    "Of course you will, dear. Seven a.m. sharp tomorrow,"


    "Sev�� it''s a Saturday!"


    "And we have much to learn," Widow Adeline says. "Before you can join your little witch friend on your sorcerer hunt."


    Eli decides the time for asking stupid questions��ones like how did you know about that?��has passed. Instead, he says, "I killed the peryton." The words still feel strange, unreal.


    "You destroyed the body of one," Widow Adeline corrects. "And while the sorcerer who summoned it remains, more will take its place."


    "Oh."


    "Indeed. So, rest now, little dragon. Tomorrow, your true life begins."

 “Concentrate on yourself; how you are, how you should be.”

    The next morning, when Eli arrives at the mansion at the top of Rosemont Heights, Widow Adeline is waiting for him with a lawnmower.


    ��You��re late,�� she says, peering down at an diamond-encrusted gold pocket watch.


    Eli looks at his own watch. ��I��m two minutes early!�� 6:58am on a Saturday. Eli hadn��t even know this time existed.


    ��By my watch, you are late.��


    Eli splutters at the indignity. His watch gets time from his phone, which in turn gets time from wherever it is that phones get the time from. Point being, a place more accurate than Widow Adeline��s fingers can wind. Before he can figure out how to explain this, Adeline waves towards the lawnmower.


    ��Well,�� she says. ��Get on with it. The grass will not cut itself.��


    Eli looks between Widow Adeline and the lawnmower. The thing must be older than he is, lurking, rust-covered and vicious, in the grass. ��I thought you were going to teach me to be a dragon!�� It sounds kind of stupid, now that he says it out loud.


    It also earns him a scowl and a tsch sort of noise. ��Discretion, boy,�� Adeline scolds. ��But, yes. That was the arrangement. This is your first lesson.��


    ��To cut grass?��


    ��Yes.��


    ��Which is teaching me what?��


    ��Well,�� is the answer, smirk curling blood-red lips. ��You��ll have the entire time you��re doing it to work that out.��


    <hr>


    Which is how Eli spends an hour and a half on the first morning of his life as a dragon mowing some evil old witch��s lawn.


    He��s never mowed a lawn before. They didn��t have one in the city and Aunt Addi has more of a weed patch than a garden. Eli��s watched people do it in movies, of course, so he gets the general gist: turn on lawnmower, drag across lawn. Completing the first step alone takes him fifteen minutes and Google.


    Nonetheless, he gets the job done. Mostly. And even puts the mower away in a space in the huge garage that, judging by the ring of dead grass, it had been removed from. By the time he gets back into the house, he��s hot and sweaty and stinks like gas. On the plus side, Widow Adeline greets him in the kitchen and��after admonishing him for tracking dirt into her house (he didn��t)��sits him down and serves him an enormous breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage.


    ��I can��t eat all of that!�� Eli says, although his stomach rumbles in a way that suggests it begs to differ.


    ��Your appetite will change.�� Widow Adeline is perched on a stool on the far side of the kitchen counter, drinking more coffee from another tiny little cup. ��Your true form takes a great deal of energy. Focus on protein, primarily meat. You may find you start to lose your taste for vegetables and sugars.��


    ��Good thing I��m not a vegetarian,�� Eli says, and eats a piece of bacon.


    Despite his protestations, he practically inhales the breakfast. Even then, he still feels he could eat a whole other portion. Widow Adeline just laughs her husky laugh when he tells her this, patting him on the shoulder as if he��s just done something particularly clever.


    This morning, she��s wearing some kind of silk kaftan and head wrap ensemble in gold and blues that shimmers like an ocean sunrise. She still looks about a hundred years out of date, bare feet slipping quietly across marble as she leads Eli through her home.


    They go down, into a surprisingly plain-seeming basement��no velvet or curios in sight��and stop in front of a steel door with a giant wheel on the front. It looks like a bank safe, and Widow Adeline uses a little plastic swipe card, plus a code she types into a little keypad, to open it.


    ��Some serious security,�� Eli says, laughing nervously.


    Widow Adeline does not return his humor. ��I meant what I said about enemies,�� she says. ��You��ve met one of them already, I believe: Yvonne Lacroix.�� She opens the door with an ominous, metallic clanking. Behind it runs a long concrete corridor.


    ��Lacroix?��


    ��Yes.�� Adeline starts down the corridor and, after a moment, Eli follows her, the vault door slamming shut behind. ��Lacroix is a member of something called the Lyddan Group.��


    ��Who are they?�� Eli asks. ��I heard Mr. Chung and Principal Malek talking about them.��


    ��They are a new coat of paint on a very, very old order,�� Adeline says. ��Named for the birthplace of the man they claim as their founder. Their old title was more poetic: the Argent Knights of the Most Holy Order of Saint George the Dragonslayer.��


    ��Oh.�� That��s . . . probably not good.


    ��Don��t let their name fool you,�� Adeline says. ��They are not religious, as such, bar their blind faith in the evils of magic. But they are your sworn enemies. Make no mistake: if they discover what you are, they will stop at nothing to see you destroyed. And they are not beyond harming those you care for to achieve it.��


    ��Oh, man.�� And here Eli was hoping this whole dragon business was just hoarding gold and setting fire to peasants.


    ��If you even suspect Lacroix or her ilk know of you, you must inform me at once.��


    Eli nods, thinking of Zoe and Aunt Addi. ��She doesn��t like me,�� he says. ��But I don��t think she, y��know. Thinks I��m a dragon.��


    ��Pray it stays that way.��


    They��ve reached the end of the hallway, hitting another one of the extremely locked-looking security doors. Widow Adeline opens it the same way, albeit with a different code. (Tracking the movement of fingers across a keypad? Child��s play. Eli couldn��t use the Launchpad if not.)


    Then the door opens, and they step through.


    Eli isn��t sure what he was expecting; some kind of vault or dungeon or bomb shelter, perhaps. What he was absolutely not expecting, on the other hand, was a cavern the size of a gymnasium.


    They must be somewhere inside Mount Rhodes, Eli thinks. The cavern is open to the sky and vines and plants cascade down over the edge and grow around the walls like a garden. There��s s pool, too. Or the exposed part of an underground river, bisecting the space before vanishing back between a crevice in the stone. The whole space is absolutely beautiful.


    It��s also overflowing with treasure.


    It looks like a movie set for a pirate��s den or, perhaps more accurately, a dragon��s hoard: gold coins lie in heaps and piles between plush velvet lounges and beneath the broad green leaves of ferns. Goblets and crowns sit beneath cascades of diamonds like ski slopes, and huge silver platters are piled with gemstones in blue and red and green and purple. Eli��s never seen anything like it.


    ��Whoa,�� he says.


    ��Oh, it isn��t that much.�� Widow Adeline bustles into the cavern, rearranging trinkets as she goes. ��Most of it is fake. Do you know how cheap diamonds are to manufacture nowadays? Absolutely amazing, the things they can cook up in a lab.��


    Eli picks up an emerald as big as his fist. It��s just . . . there. Sitting on a carved side table by the door. ��Uh huh,�� he says. He��s seen gems before, of course, because of Mom. But . . . still.


    He tosses the emerald into a pile of coins as high as his knee.


    Widow Adeline directs Eli to stand in the centre of the room, in front of an absolutely enormous gilt-framed mirror, lying propped against one wall. There��s another table next to the mirror and Adeline retrieves an item from it, which she subsequently hands to Eli.


    ��Wear this,�� she says.


    ��What is it?�� Most obviously, it��s a pendant; a braided leather cord with a single silver item the rough size and shape of a guitar pick tied in the middle. Eli examines the pick-shape more closely; it looks organic, for all its unnatural, metallic luster. ��Is this . . . is this a dragon scale?��


    ��Yes, my dear. Good work. It is an Amulet of Melding. It will allow your clothing to survive your transformation.��


    ��Oh. Cool.�� Definitely, definitely cool. Eli��s already lost two of his favorite hoodies. He doesn��t want to lose another.


    He slips the amulet over his head; it settles against his breastbone, surprisingly heavy and warm. He thinks he can feel the magic in it. Maybe. Or maybe that��s the butterflies that seem to��ve taken up residence both in his stomach and around the mirror��s frame.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ��Now that��s sorted,�� Widow Adeline is saying, ��let��s see your true self?��


    ��Huh?�� Eli is distracted by the butterflies. They��re nearly as big as sparrows and brilliantly colored and something about the shape of their bodies . . .


    ��Don��t mind the fae. They won��t bite. Hard.�� Widow Adeline claps once, the sound sharp and echoing in the large space of the cave. ��Now. Transform.��


    Eli tears his eyes away from the butterflies (faeries?). ��I . . . don��t know how,�� he admits.


    ��Of course you do, dear,�� Widow Adeline admonishes him. ��Use the mirror if you need to. Concentrate on yourself; how you are, how you should be. You��ve experienced the change already. How did you feel then?��


    ��Afraid,�� Eli admits.


    ��And what were you afraid for, dear?��


    Eli wants to say my life, because he had been, hadn��t he? With the peryton about to lunge and the hot tingling beneath his skin and . . .


    Except he��s felt that feeling before, the hot rush that heralded the change. With Arthur and with Lacroix. He hadn��t been afraid, then. Not exactly.


    ��I wasn��t afraid,�� he says, nearly too quiet to be heard. ��I was angry. I was so . . . so freakin�� angry. People were being hurt and I couldn��t do anything and . . .��


    Son, never let them see your anger, his father once told him. Never give them that excuse.


    So Eli hadn��t. He��d bottled up every outrage, every humiliation. Being stopped in the street and on the metro. Being followed around in shops, stared at in restaurants. Feeling strangers touch his hair and giggle at his clothes and pretend not to understand his words. Catching a glimpse of FOX from the corner of his eye, grainy photos of a body lying in the street, a blurry mug shot, a what-was-he-holding-how-did-he-act-what-did-he-say roiling beneath his skin, tucked away as cold and distant as a star because the whole of it is so hot, so fierce, that to stand within its orbit is to burn.


    This time, Eli does not shy away from the star. This time, Eli grabs it.


    The world changes. Grows smaller, more fragile. Eli feels his body swell, expand, stretch. Feels the wings erupt from his back and the tail lengthen from his spine. Feels his teeth grow sharp and his nails grow hard.


    Mostly, what he feels is a sense of peace. Of rightness. Like a cool rain across the embers of his rage. He still feels it, that burning rejection of injustice, but it��s tempered now. Soothed. He��s no longer powerless. He will never be powerless. Not ever again.


    Widow Adeline says:


    ��Magnificent. Truly magnificent.��


    When Eli opens his eyes, he finds a dragon staring at him from the mirror. When he blinks, so does it.


    ��A Blacklight Tch��ku,�� Widow Adeline is saying. ��I haven��t seen a Tch��ku in . . . a very, very long time.��


    ��What��s a chu-koo?�� Eli says, walking closer to the mirror.


    ��Tch��ku,�� Adeline corrects. ��And it��s your Legacy, darling. The gift that gives you form. The Tch��ku are the Mouths of Justice, one of the Seven Great Flights.��


    ��That��s a lot of portentous capitalization.�� The dragon in the mirror, Eli has to admit, does not really look much like he was expecting. There are scales, more like a crocodile than a fish, smooth and pebbled and mottled such a deep purple as to be almost black. Bright flecks of bioluminescence peek between the seams at his throat and down his flank, glimmering like stars. His limbs are stocky and powerful, tipped with claws like bismuth and rising into thick spines around the bicep and shoulder.


    There��s a long tail, of course, fringed with more spines, and huge, bat-like wings rising from his back. Even horns like a bull, curving from his skull. So he��s definitely a dragon. But there��s something almost leonine about the silhouette of his body; no long, arching necks or reptilian snouts. His face is broad and cat-like, short neck hidden beneath a mane of feathers as fine as fur. More spines peek through the plumage, and continue down his back, and all-in-all Eli isn��t quite sure what to make of it.


    ��I look like . . . some kind of flying lion,�� he announces. It��s strange watching himself speak in this form. It looks like the enormous teeth should get in the way, but he doesn��t so much as slur.


    ��You��re a Tch��ku, my dear,�� Widow Adeline states, as if this explains everything. ��Open your wings and see.��


    Eli does, rearing onto his hind legs to get a better view. He��s probably about the size of a small car, all up, and his wings are absolutely enormous.


    They��re bat-like in the sense they��re a membrane spread over ��fingers��, but that��s where the similarities end. The skin is thick and heavy, and scalloped along the edge almost like the outline of feathers. As for the color . . .


    It looks like a nebula, seen through a rainbow. A mix of luminescence and iridescence that shimmers and seems to shift with every movement. Eli has never seen anything like it.


    ��The Tch��ku are characterized by bull��s horns, a leonine form, and rainbow patterning on the wings,�� Widow Adeline says, as if reciting from a textbook. ��Mesopotamian in origin, though of course that was a very long time ago. The Tch��ku were some of the first of the xyl��tkkan to follow humans into the cities. My dear, your ancestors dined with Hammurabi and were tutors to Hatshepsut. Their likenesses grace the Ishtar Gate and were memorialized by Ezekial. You inherit a legacy of wisdom and law, of raising some of the most bountiful empires known to man. It is a legacy of greatness, and you should be proud.��


    ��It sounds . . . like a lot to live up to,�� Eli says, still studying himself in the mirror. He does look pretty cool, if not quite what he was expecting.


    Widow Adeline just laughs. ��You��re young yet,�� she says. ��There��s plenty of time. Now. Go. Learn your new body. The grotto is safe; move about it as you will. I will be here when you��re done.��


    Eli looks at her in surprise. ��Really?��


    ��Of course, my dear. Run before you can fly, and all that.��


    Eli feels his jaws split apart in his current form��s approximation of a smile. ��Awesome,�� he says, and leaps.


    <hr>


    Being a dragon is. The. Best.


    Eli has no words for it, just whoops��or rather, roars��of pure glee as he runs through the cave. The chamber they��re in extends further back into the mountain, and Eli spends a good hour moving through caverns, climbing walls, and swimming through the pools and streams. The place is magical; literally magical, with witchlights floating in the darkness and strange creatures flitting through the shadows. Plus the butterfly things which, it turns out, are actually tiny dragon-like creatures with two legs and four wings.


    ��Faevern,�� Widow Adeline tells him, when Eli brings some to show her. ����tchan in the old language.�� She says it with a lilting rise on the o-sound.


    The faevern aren��t frightened of Eli. In fact, clusters of them alight on his flanks whenever he sits still. They��re like tick-birds, he thinks; little snouts snuffling at his scales, looking for mites and scraps of dead skin. It��s kind of gross, but Widow Adeline assures him he��ll appreciate it come his molt.


    Eli spends the next twenty minutes trying not to think about that particular event by trying to think of flying, instead.


    He has to admit he isn��t very good at it. He is good at climbing, thick claws hauling him easily up rough stone walls. He climbs as high and he dares in the cave then . . . lets go. He manages an awkward glide a few times, and a heavy thud against the stone more than he��d like to admit. When he dares look at Widow Adeline, he finds her regarding him with amusement.


    ��You��re young,�� she says. ��In time, the skies will be yours.��


    ��Will I be able to breathe fire?�� Eli asks. He doesn��t feel like he can but, then again, maybe he just doesn��t know what he��s supposed to be feeling for.


    ��You��ll be able to ��breathe�� something,�� Adeline says. ��Fire or ice. Acid, perhaps. Those are the most common.��


    ��Cool.�� Eli hopes it��s acid. Being able to breathe acid sounds awesome.


    Widow Adeline assures him the flight and breath will come ��in time,�� whatever that��s supposed to mean.


    ��In the interim,�� she says, ��I��ll expect you here no less than three times a week. For exercise in your true form, and for lessons.��


    ��Lessons�� turns out to be history and language. He gets the former first.


    ��Many different tales are told of the birth of the xyl��tkkan,�� Widow Adeline tells him. ��But they are, at their heart, all the same story. In ages past the first tkkan arose amongst the mortals. Strong and brave and true, they protected the young human tribes from evil, no matter it source. The mortals were grateful for this protection, and revered the tkkan in turn; installing them as kings and worshipping them as gods.��


    ��Uh-oh,�� says Eli, who can tell where this is going.


    ��Over time,�� Adeline continues, ��some tkkan grew greedy. They forgot their sacred missions and demanded greater and greater tribute from the mortals, and offered less and less in return. They built castles and temples for themselves, far away from their people. Removed from the world, generations of tkkan grew up knowing mortals as a shepherd knows his flock; as beasts to be tended, not as equals. These tkkan began to hand down edicts, rules intended to keep the mortals away from evil.��


    ��To make their jobs easier,�� Eli says.


    ��Quite so. Some tkkan began to blame the mortals for the as��kku that tormented them. They taught that the as��kku were manifestations of man��s corrupted nature, and that only by following the puritan edicts of the tkkan could the world be saved. Over time, as the as��kku failed to abate, the rulings grew stricter and the punishments for failing to adhere to them more brutal. Where they had once been wise men and seeresses, the tkkan had become god-tyrants. Ruling men rather than guiding.


    ��In the end, a group of mortals came together with the intent of overthrowing the empire of the xyl��tkkan. But they did not do so with war, or with violence. Instead, they laid a powerful curse, the Ss��a��yo X��ng����more musical vowels dropping to an an almost-growl at the end����or Curse of Blood. With the Curse, the tkkan could no longer sire children amongst themselves. Instead, they would be forced to take consorts from among the mortals. Worse, some of their children would be mortals, and there would be no way to tell which progeny would Hatch and which would not until they had reached adulthood.


    ��As a result of the Curse, the great empires of tkkan slowly crumbled; first by intermarriage with the mortals they had once held themselves apart from, then by mortal children of tkkan blood ascending to the thrones and places of power of their parents. As ages passed, the lines of the tkkan became scattered, with Hatchlings awakening in lineages that had not seen a tkkan ancestor in a thousand years.��


    ��Like me, you mean,�� Eli says.


    ��Like many,�� Widow Adeline says. ��But the crumbling of the great tkkan empires had another consequence. Mortal memory can be long, for all mortal lives are not. Even as the tkkan scattered, many amongst the mortals remembered their tyranny. Orders of mortals banded together, swearing to hunt down any tkkan still living.��


    ��Like Lacroix.��


    ��Indeed. It��s a dangerous legacy you��re inheriting, my dear. Your allies are scattered and your enemies are many. To survive, you must have cunning and wisdom, as well as strength.��


    Eli thinks about this for a moment. It sits hot and heavy in his mind, a giant lead boulder of history and responsibility. One he didn��t ask for and isn��t sure he wants. He looks down at his claws; the thick, purple-black scutes and iridescent talons. As big as a human��s torso. Big hands for a big responsibility.


    ��I liked the part where I could breath acid, better,�� he admits.


    Of all things, Widow Adeline just laughs.

 “Stars of the sky and spirits of the land, we call upon your aid.”

    It��s nearly eleven by the time Eli gets to Zoe��s place, mostly care of him taking a good twenty minutes trying to figure out how to change back into a human. When he finally gets it, he��s surprised how . . . wrong the shape feels; too small and too fragile and too smooth. Widow Adeline just laughs at his discomfort, feeds him another plate of bacon and sausages, and sends him on his way.


    Eli��s head is in such a spin by the time he��s standing at Zoe��s front door that he��s almost forgotten why he��s supposed to be here. His eyes keep drifting to the sky, at the blue peeking between silver clouds. He could be up there, right now. Just him and the wind. It��s a strange thought; makes him feel restless and uneasy.


    The Chungs are not early risers, so Eli gets offered breakfast for the third time. Mr. Chung is making crepes, stuffed with mascarpone and berry compote and smothered with maple syrup. Eli loves Mr. Chung��s crepes, except today something about the smell of the syrup and berries makes his stomach turn. He tries one anyway, minus the syrup; the crepe is like eating paper and the berries are so sweet it makes his teeth hurt. The mascarpone tastes okay, so he eats as much as he can, then pushes away the rest with a muttered apology about having already eaten.


    ��Your loss!�� Zoe announces, and promptly devours everything he didn��t.


    Today, Zoe is in her Supernatural outfit; a cute black dress and little blue tie underneath a long tan duster. Her earrings are two little black feathers, which Eli finds somewhat ironic when he pulls the tattered peryton feather from his satchel.


    Zoe��s eyes go very, very wide. ��Is that��?��


    ��Yeah,�� Eli confirms. ��I found it on the way home last night. It can��t be from a regular bird, right?�� He��s practiced this story on the way over, while he was busy fetching the feather from the festering remains of the peryton he ki�� he destroyed. It��s not that he doesn��t want to tell Zoe how he really got it so much as he keeps hearing Widow Adeline��s warnings in his head. He doesn��t want anything to happen to Zoe because of him. Not ever.


    Zoe takes the feather with awe. ��No way this came from a bird. It has to be the peryton. Ee, you��re a genius!��


    Eli has the bruises to prove it, though doesn��t say as much.


    Zoe puts the feather aside and pulls out her grimoire instead. She opens it to a page full of her overly ornate, loopy writing curled around some kind of sigil. At the top of the page, Eli can read the title: To tra?e a Warlocke by his ?pells.


    ��You spelt ��trace�� wrong,�� Eli points out, earning a withering glare for his efforts.


    ��So I was thinking,�� Zoe says, pointedly, ��that we don��t actually really want to find the peryton at all, do we?��


    ��No,�� says Eli, trying not to think of the mangled corpse behind Widow Adeline��s.


    ��Right. What we actually need is to locate whomever summoned it in the first place. So I did some research, and I��ve found a spell that should do just that.�� A pause. ��I think.��


    ��Okay,�� says Eli. ��How does it work?��


    So Zoe explains. She talks a lot about ley energies and astral resonances and things that Eli would��ve assumed were nonsense, this time last week. Today, he��s spent all morning as a dragon and is less prepared to dismiss Zoe��s ramblings out-of-hand. He still remembers the flash of light from the amulet she made, the crackling smell of power as the peryton had bounced off the magical shield.


    He helps Zoe carry her equipment out into the woods behind the house. She has an altar set up here, on an old, mostly flat stone. Things hang from the branches of the trees around them; feathers and shards of glass, old beads and little dolls made from twigs. Even if the magic doesn��t work, at least the setting is appropriate.


    Zoe lays out her paten��not the one Lacroix stole, but the big one she keeps at home��and starts to set out a bunch of colored candles. She��s using some app on her phone to align them. Not against the compass points; Eli thinks maybe it��s stars or something astrological, but doesn��t ask.


    Once the candles are in place, Zoe pulls out a little jug. It looks like the sort of thing her dad uses to pour fancy olive oil over sourdough, except when Zoe tilts it, a line of salt trickles out. Using the salt, she draws the symbol from her grimoire onto her paten, lines linking each of the candles in a complicated pattern.


    When she��s done, she places the peryton feather in the centre, then huffs out a breath.


    ��Okay,�� she says. ��You ready?��


    Eli, who��s sitting across from her on the far side of the stone, nods. ��Yeah.��


    ��You have to help me,�� Zoe says. ��This is powerful magic.��


    ��Okay.��


    ��I mean it, Ee.�� Zoe looks anxious, eyes flicking between Eli and the feather. ��I��ve never . . . I mean. I��ve never tried anything this big a deal before. I don��t know what will happen.�� Then, softer, ��Maybe nothing.��


    ��I believe in you, Zee,�� Eli says, because he does. ��Whoever��s doing this, summoning this monster and killing these people, you can find him.�� Your little witch friend, Widow Adeline had said. Widow Adeline, who spoke to dragons and kept a grotto full of faeries. If she believed in Zoe . . .


    Zoe takes another deep breath. ��Okay,�� she says. ��Okay, so. Close your eyes����Eli does����and I want you . . . I want you to imagine the peryton for me.��


    ��No problem there.�� Honestly, Eli��s been having trouble not imagining it; all sharp claws and stench and shrieking.


    ��Now imagine someone behind it. Not any particular someone. Just . . . whoever��s summoning the monster. Like, the idea of them, or whatever.��


    ��Okay.�� Eli imagines a figure, shrouded by a black robe, summoning monsters. He figures black robes are a must for evil sorcerers.


    ��Okay,�� says Zoe. ��Okay, so . . .�� She clears her throat. Then, louder, if not more confidently: ��Stars of the sky and spirits of the land, we call upon your aid. We beseech you, lend us your wisdom that we might find the master of this foul beast whose feather we have offered. Um . . .�� A snap, then the smell of a lighter flame.


    ��By the tread of his feet, o spirits of Earth, lend us your strength so he might be found.


    ��By the sweat of his brow, o spirits of Water, lend us your wisdom so he might be found.


    ��By the gust of his breath, o spirits of Air, lend us your guile so he might be found.


    ��By the beat of his heart, o spirits of Flame, lend us your rage so he might be found.��


    And the thing is, Eli . . . Eli feels it. When Zoe speaks, at each candle she lights (because, yeah, Eli peeked) he can feel something stirring in the forest around them. A rumble of stones, a burble of water.


    ��It��s working,�� he whispers, every hair on his body standing on end.


    Zoe has three more candles to light. When she speaks, her voice is shaking.


    ��B-by the scent of his soul, o spirits of Void, lend us your smell so he might be found.


    ��By the whisper of his mind, o spirits of Aether, lend us your hearing so he might be found.��


    One final candle. By now, Eli��s eyes are wide open, and he meets Zoe��s own, terrified gaze across the altar. Whatever��s happening, she feels it too as she says:


    ��A-and by the sh-shape of his form, oh spirits of Stars, lend us your sight so he might be found!��


    When she touches the lighter to the final candle, the flame that erupts is as blue-white as a star, and arcs up like a firework. Zoe shrieks, and jerks back, as the six other candles also flare and grow, each burning a different color: green, blue, yellow, red, pink, and purple. A wind whips around them, summoned from nowhere, sending Zoe��s hair thrashing like blue-black tentacles. The lines of salt on the paten seem so bright they��re almost glowing and, no. No, they are glowing. They��re glowing, and the feather is rising, levitating in the air with the tip pointed down.


    ��Oh, goddess,�� Zoe says. Her eyes are huge and white and terrified. ��It��s never . . . I mean . . . oh. Oh, man.��


    The feather isn��t the only thing that��s levitating; the flames are, too. Rising from their candles and circling like witch-lights. Slowly, first, then with increasing speed as they��re drawn towards the feather. As they move, Eli can feel the magic building. In the air, in the earth. In his blood and his bones and the dragon inside him thrashes and roars and it takes every ounce of everything he has to it it back and keep it locked inside.


    The flames burn brighter and spin faster and the wind gets more violent as the magic builds. The ground beneath them rumbles like an earthquake and Zoe screams, ��Eli!�� in the one second before the seven flames flare one final time and slam into the feather with a burst of light and power so bright and strong that Eli dives against the forest floor. As he does, he feels the magic crackle over him; a wave of energy like being buffeted in the surf.


    It only lasts an instant. When it��s over, he hears a sound like a metal plate, dropped onto stone.


    ��E-Eli?��


    When Eli looks up, Zoe is staring at him, wide-eyed, from the far side of the ruined altar. And ��ruined�� is right; the salt lines are blown out and the candles have been incinerated down to waxy nubs. Even Zoe��s paten looks charred and worse for wear. The only thing that looks untouched in the feather, now lying innocuous and still atop the paten.


    ��I��m okay,�� Eli says, swallowing hard. He runs a hand over his frazzled hair. ��You?��


    Zoe nods, though she��s pale and shaky. ��It��s never . . . before, I mean. I didn��t expect . . .��


    Eli nods, picking himself up and dusting dirt and leaves from his hoodie. ��I know,�� he says. Seems a lot of things no one was expecting have been happening recently.


    They both eye the feather, wary, but it continues to sit and do nothing. Eli can still feel the magic in it; the oily corrupt feeling of the peryton itself, but now overlaid by the clean, crisp feeling of what must be Zoe��s spell. ��What now?�� he asks.


    Hesitantly, Zoe reaches towards the feather. She gasps when her fingers touch it, but doesn��t pull back and no further explosions occur. ��Um,�� she says. ��We��re supposed to, like. Attach it to a string or something and use it like a dowsing stone.��


    Eli eyes the feather; it��s easily as long as Zoe��s forearm. ��It��s a bit big to tie to a string,�� he says.


    ��Yeah. But . . . maybe if I . . .�� Zoe hold her hand out, feather balanced on the palm. They both watch as, very slowly, the feather begins to turn. Like a compass needle.


    When it finally come to a stop, they both continue to look at it for a while until Zoe finally says:


    ��Well. I guess that��s where we go.��


    <hr>


    The feather takes them on a hike, around the outside of Rosemont Heights and into the woods at the base of Mount Rhodes. They quickly discover that the feather is a compass, not a GPS route; it doesn��t care about cliffs or crevasses or otherwise impassable terrain. There are trails up the mountain��for walking and for hunting��and they stick to those as best they can, especially as the ground gets steeper and the trees denser.


    ��This would be a hell of a lot easier if we could fly,�� Zoe pants at one point, as Eli helps her over the remains of a rockslide.


    ��Yeah,�� he says, and tries not to look up.


    The sun is high and bright by the time they spot the shack. It looks to have once been some kind of bird hide or hunting shed; small and crude but deceptively sturdy. It��s half-obscured between the trees and beneath a cascade of ferns, and they probably would��ve walked straight past it if not for the feather pointing dead ahead.


    Neither of them speak.


    There��s something ominous about the shack. Some queasy, greasy feeling in the air. Zoe��s hand threads through Eli��s and he squeezes her fingers with a reassurance he doesn��t feel. He keeps telling himself there��s nothing to worry about��he��s a dragon, the peryton is already dead��but it doesn��t help.


    This place feels wrong.


    They approach the shack as quietly as they can, barely even breathing. The thing has no door in the frame and holes for windows positioned in a way that make it look like an endlessly screaming face. Inside, is dark and full of cobwebs. It stinks like mould and there are sodden, half-rotted piles of blankets on the bare concrete floor. There doesn��t seem to be anyone here.


    ��I��m not sure what we were looking for,�� Eli finally says. ��But this doesn��t feel like it.�� He keeps having to force his voice to rise above a whisper.


    Zoe is still balancing the feather on her hand, or trying to; it keeps tipping towards the floor, as if weighted at the tip. ��Maybe . . .�� she murmurs, distracted.


    Eli leaves her to it, ducking outside and back into the woods. There��s a little clearing in front of the shack, a place where the ferns don��t grow. Right now, it��s covered in fallen leaves that gleam gold like a dragon��a hoard. Eli sighs. Dragons are supposed to be greedy, right? Is he going to develop a sudden obsession with gold? Deck himself out in rings and chains like a TV gangster? Mom had always been big into jewelry. He could dig her stuff out of storage, maybe. Pile it up on his bed and curl on it and��


    ��Oof!��


    One minute Eli is pacing, kicking up leaves, the next he��s face-first in the dirt. It doesn��t hurt, at least nothing more than his pride, and Eli stands and dusts himself off. He turns to scowl at whatever tripped him and sees an odd-looking rock. It��d been covered by the leaves. Now it isn��t.


    There��s something carved into the top. Some kind of rune or sigil; Eli doesn��t recognize it exactly but can recognize the style from Zoe��s grimoire. It looks to have been chiseled out of the rock and stained a dark rust color Eli does not like one little bit. The earth surrounding it also looks to be scorched; black and lifeless in a patterns like a T, with the rock positioned at the intersect.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Eli starts kicking away more leaves, even as he knows what he��s going to see.


    It��s a summoning circle. The diameter is slightly longer than Eli is tall, the circumference a burnt black line marked with six more rune-cut stones. There are more burnt lines in the centre of the circle, though Eli doesn��t reveal them all. He��s seen enough.


    ��Zoe!�� he calls, at the exact moment he hears, ��Eli!��


    ��Come look at this,�� they both end up saying. Zoe appears in the door to the shack just as Eli is about to walk through it, and they share a glance before both saying: ��I found something.��


    Zoe��s discovery turns out to be a trapdoor. ��It was buried under the gross blanket pile,�� she says. ��The feather pulls right towards it.�� She demonstrates by dropping the feather entirely; it lands on the trapdoor, balanced impossibly on its point.


    ��Jeeze.��


    The trapdoor is also super, super locked. There��s a huge, shiny padlock on a heavy shiny bolt, and Eli takes one look and says, ��Someone wanted to keep people out.��


    ��Or in.��


    Eli tries not to shudder.


    ��Maybe there��s a key?��


    It��s a terrible idea, but it��s Eli��s terrible idea, so he looks around the shack while Zoe inspects the summoning circle. Well, that��s the excuse. What he��s really doing is inspecting the trapdoor, because the lock might be new but the wood it��s screwed into isn��t.


    ��Okay, Dragon Boy,�� Eli mutters to himself. ��No problem, right?��


    He grabs the padlock, wrapping his fingers around the U-shaped part. He doesn��t want to risk a full transformation��the shack is too small, if nothing else��but maybe if he can just reach down inside, pull up some of that draconian strength, and��


    ��Ah!��


    The lock comes free so easily it sends Eli tumbling back on his ass in the dirt. It��s noisy, too��a big, loud crack of splintering wood��and that brings Zoe running back with an, ��Eli? Eli, are you okay?��


    ��Ta da!�� He holds the lock aloft, intact and still locked around the torn-free bolt, splinters of wood still shedding from the screws.


    Zoe laughs, helping him off the floor. ��That��s one way to do it.��


    ��No point putting a new lock on old wood.�� It��s not exactly a lie, so Eli doesn��t exactly have to feel bad about saying it.


    Together, they peer down at the trapdoor, now sporting a ragged hole on one edge. Eli pushes it open with his toe, revealing a narrow concrete chimney with rusty ladder rings bolted into one side.


    ��I . . . guess I��ll go first?�� he suggests.


    Zoe elbows him. ��I see you, Elias Drake! Trying to get a look up my skirt!��


    Eli laughs, but it��s as anxious and edgy as Zoe��s taunting. ��Not my fault you didn��t dress for spelunking,�� he says. The hole in the floor gapes at them, dark and claustrophobic.


    Thing was, back before . . . Back Before, the most dangerous thing Eli had ever done in his life was once tell his parents he was going to the cinema to see the latest Avengers when he had, instead, snuck next door to watch an entirely forgettable yet deeply R-rated film involving a lot of blood and sex scenes.


    Before Rosemont, Eli had been the son of a Harvard Law graduate and a diamond heiress. His bedroom had a view of Central Park and his school had heraldry and a uniform. He��d once panicked so badly when he��d been given a C in gym class his parents had sent him to therapy.


    Before Rosemont, Eli��s idea of a big night out was sitting with his laptop making nightcore remixes of Homestuck themes. Before Resemont, Eli would never have tracked a murderous sorcerer to a dark shack in the woods.


    Before Rosemont, Eli had been human.


    He goes first down the ladder.


    As far as life-defining events, it��s no knock-knock-there��s-been-an-accident. It��s just a ladder. Rust flakes off around Eli��s hands but it doesn��t take him long to get to the bottom. It��s barely over eight feet down and he can feel his hair brushing up against the filthy concrete ceiling.


    ��How it is?�� Zoe��s face appears over the hole.


    ��I��m going to be picking spiders out of my hair for a year,�� Eli answers.


    ��Close your eyes. I��m coming down.��


    Eli does not, in fact, close his eyes, which means he does get a flash up Zoe��s skirt. Except she��s wearing devil��s trap leggings and Eli��s seen her in them before with just a tshirt on top, so he figures it doesn��t count.


    The ladder chimney is narrow and Zoe . . . isn��t, which means she ends up with a lot more wall grime on her by the time she gets to the bottom. Eli helps her down the last few rungs, then makes a valiant attempt to brush dirt off her back and shoulders.


    ��My coat!�� she says, pouting as she inspects the damage.


    ��It��ll wash.�� Zoe is warm and soft under Eli��s hand, which is about when he decides he should stop touching her.


    He steps back, but not far; the ladder leads down to a long, narrow passageway that twists into the dark. It reminds Eli of a mirror-world version of Widow Adeline��s hallway, and for one mad moment he wonders if they��re going to find another dragon cave at the end of it.


    ��It stinks down here.�� Zoe��s voice is barely a whisper. The hallway is narrow enough they have to walk single-file, phone flashlights casting mad shadows around the rough, concrete walls.


    ��It��s the peryton.�� Eli is walking ahead, sleeve held across his nose to try and block the smell. Rot and death and something more a feeling than a scent; corruption and evil.


    ��D-do you think it��s still here?�� Zoe asks.


    ��No.��


    ��How do you know?��


    Because I killed it, Eli can��t say. So, instead, it��s: ��Too small. It wouldn��t fit.��


    ��Oh. Right. Good.��


    The tunnel is neither as long as Widow Adeline��s, nor as straight; Eli rounds the third corner and finds himself not in a tunnel but in a room. It��s the same rough-cut concrete construction as the rest of the place, and is strewn with the detritus of habitation. There are several cinder block bookshelves and a sleeping bag. Plus a pile of old food tins, and a card table set up like a makeshift desk. One corner near the entryway is even a curtained-off toilet pit. The curtain does nothing whatsoever to disguise the stink.


    ��Oh my god,�� Zoe says. ��Was someone . . . living here?��


    Eli scans the shelves. There are old survivalist magazines and wilderness manuals, none of which look like they��ve been published in the last few decades. But there are newer things, too: a textbook he recognizes from English class; a pile of bright candy wrappers; the charger for an iPhone.


    ��Maybe not living,�� he says, examining the wrappers. ��But someone��s been here recently.�� There��s a pencil sticking out from between the dog-eared pages of the textbook.


    ��Ee?�� Zoe��s voice has suddenly shifted; some new thready quality that has Eli headed her way even before she says, ��Ee? You better come look at this.��


    It��s a shelf of jars. Seven of them, in fact. Big Mason jars with the tattered remains of their labels still clinging to the outside. Three of the jars are empty. The other four . . .


    The other four are holding hearts, suspended in liquid. As in the organ, not the shape. Each heart is about the size of Eli��s fist. One of the hearts lies at the bottom of its jar, pale and lifeless. The other three float and bob in their liquid, glowing faintly and beating.


    ��W-what . . .?��


    ��It��s magic,�� Eli says, then feels like an idiot. Of course it��s magic. He can feel it; congealed around the jars like rancid fat in a cheap diner��s exhaust fan. The three glowing hearts are green, violet, and red. Like the candles.


    ��Do you think they��re . . .?��


    ��Yeah,�� Eli says, because he does. Human hearts in jars.


    ��Why do you think this one��s . . . dead?��


    ��Who knows.�� A lie, but . . . it��ll do for now.


    ��Do you think we should, I dunno. Break the others?��


    ��Do I think we should break the evil magic jars of human hearts?��


    ��When you put it like that, it doesn��t sound like a great idea, does it?��


    ��No it does not.��


    ��Right.��


    ��Right.��


    There shelf of hearts is sitting next to the room��s makeshift table. There��s a bunch of stuff on it Eli recognizes from Zoe��s own magic; candles and bowls and things like that. Plus a black-handled dagger. It doesn��t look much like Zoe��s athame; those are plain things with straight blades and unadorned grips. The dagger here looks like a crappy 90s tribal tattoo made in metal, all unnecessary curves and carved symbols blackened with what Eli isn��t even going to pretend isn��t blood.


    Zoe told him once that getting blood on an athame made it unusable. Something about spiritual tainting that Eli hadn��t paid much attention to at the time, but which suddenly seems viscerally relevant. This time last week, Eli hadn��t even believed in magic. Now he knows enough to know evil sorcery when he sees it.


    ��Ee, look at this.��


    Zoe is holding a book. It��s a tattered old thing, with yellow pages and a hardback cover that��s long since lost its dust jacket, assuming it ever came with one. It looks like a library book from a hundred years ago; the print inside thick-inked and closely spaced.


    ��It��s a grimoire,�� Zoe explains. She flicks through pages and pages of dense text, interspersed with the odd diagram or sigil. ��Or . . . a treatise on magic, really.��


    ��What��s the difference?��


    ��It��s not spells, exactly,�� Zoe says. ��I think . . . it��s more like how magic works, not how to cast it. Like the difference between a sewing pattern and a book on tailoring. One will teach you how to make a single dress or shirt. The other will tech you how to make anything.��


    There are notes in the book��s narrow margins. Lots of them. Marginalia, Eli remembers it��s called. His father had told him, back when Eli had been very small. Mom was very adamantly against marginalia. Or dog-earing pages or cracking spines. Books were only ever treated with reverent care, in the Drake household.


    One of the notes in the spell book reads:


    7 sins��7 virtues��7 legacys��7 powers��Paterns repeat��


    ��What��s up with the funny punctuation?��


    Zoe scowls at the page, fingers tracing over the letters like she��s trying to remember something. ��It��s Japanese,�� she finally says. ��The t��ten and kuten.�� Pointing to the commas and full stops, respectively.


    ��Our evil sorcerer is a weeaboo?��


    ��Or Japanese.��


    ��If he was Japanese,�� Eli points out, ��why would he write his notes����


    It��s about this time they hear the crash. It��s accompanied by a loud curse��the voice male and adult��coming from the direction of the bunker��s exit.


    Both Eli and Zoe freeze. Their eyes meet in the darkness, the pale light from their phones making the sclera almost seem to glow.


    A second voice joins the first. The voices are too distant to hear clearly, but they��re accompanied by the loud thumping of feet and, a moment later, a hollow metal clanging like boots on a ladder��s rung.


    Oh shit, Zoe mouths.


    Hide! suggests Eli.


    The room goes dark as they both shut off their phones, the only illumination coming from the eerily beating hearts. The place has only one exit and there are people coming down it and, oh man, Eli is so screwed. If Aunt Addi catches him down here he is going to be grounded for, like, ever and then he won��t get to visit Widow Adeline and he won��t get to be a dragon and��


    It��s Zoe who grabs him, not gently, and starts manhandling him across the room. It��s only when the smell hits and his eyes start watering something fierce that he realizes she��s dragged them behind the curtain around the toilet pit.


    ��Zo���� he starts, and is promptly muffled by a hand, slapped over his mouth.


    Of the two of them, Zoe��s clothes are lighter��with the tan jacket and white shirt��so she��s huddled as best she can between Eli and the wall. The toilet isn��t exactly spacious, and there are only so many places Eli can put his feet, at least if he wants not to end up in the literal shit. Meaning he��s pressed up against quite a lot of Zoe. She��s very warm against him, breath coming fast from fear and adrenaline. Eli can smell her; like sweat and incense, sandalwood and patchouli.


    It smells better than the toilet, at any rate.


    Very slowly, the voices get closer. Two of them, two men. One has the sort of thick, Brooklyn accent that makes Eli homesick. The other sounds like an extra on Fargo.


    ����quiet all goddamn week and finally it pings now?�� Brooklyn is saying.


    ��Kids these days,�� says Fargo. ��That circle out the front? Back in my day, you didn��t get sloppy work like that. None of this . . . dank caves shit, either.��


    ��Think there��s someone here?�� Then, louder: ��C��mout c��mout, wherever you are.��


    Eli feels Zoe��s breath hitch. He squeezes her hand.


    ��Cut that out,�� snaps Fargo. ��Jesus.��


    The voices, and the footsteps, have been getting louder. There��s a torch-beam, too; bouncing around the room like a hyperactive strobe. The light makes the two men difficult to see, when they finally enter the room. Eli only gets vague impressions: one is taller, thinner. One is stocky and paunchy around the middle. It��s the tall one who��s doing a bad job with the flashlight, but he��s doing it one-handed. The other is held up, and Eli does not miss the ugly, black shape of a pistol.


    Zoe is breathing very, very fast. She must��ve seen the gun, too. Both men��s guns, because, yes, they��re both armed.


    They sweep the room with both the light and their weapons. There��s a tense moment as they move out of sight; until Eli can only track them by their footsteps and the shadows cast by the flashlight. Then, Fargo says:


    ��I don��t think anyone��s here.��


    Zoe makes a sound. Just one: a high-pitched, squeaking sob.


    ��What was that?�� The shadows swing wildly across the rough concrete roof as Brooklyn swings around.


    ��Probably a goddamn rat,�� Fargo says. ��Stop being so jumpy.�� A pause, then: ��Jesus. Look at this.�� From the direction of the voice, Eli thinks the men have found the heart jars.


    ��Christ,�� Brooklyn says. ��Lacroix was right.�� And then it��s Eli��s turn for his heart to skip a beat.


    Lacroix. Brooklyn and Fargo aren��t deputies. Eli would know if they were. He��s met all four of Rosemont��s Finest, thanks to Aunt Addi. But the two men here, he��s never seen before. That means they must be working for Lacroix. That means . . .


    Dragonslayers.


    It��s almost funny, thinking that word about the two men Eli glimpsed through the toilet curtain. With their bad haircuts and ill-fitting suits. He��ll laugh about it later. When his claws don��t itch beneath his fingers and his scales aren��t trying to peel through his skin.


    ��Four foci,�� Brooklyn is saying. ��That means four of those damn demons out there somewhere.��


    ��Three,�� Fargo corrects. ��This one looks dead.��


    ��You sure?��


    ��Pretty sure.��


    ��Who in this gentrified backwater hell-hole could take out an utukku?��


    Eli mouths the word. It sounds like one of things Widow Adeline keeps saying. He��ll have to ask her about it. As soon as they get out of this place. Which they��re going to do. Right now. While Marty and Rust are distracted.


    Eli shakes Zoe, gently, and gestures to her that they should move. She shakes her head; a tiny, terrified movement like an anxious terrier.


    It��ll be okay, Eli mouths to her. Trust me. If nothing else, he can turn dragon in the hallway and physically block the exit while she escapes.


    Lacroix��s goons are still looking at the hearts, arguing loudly, when Eli starts to move. Slowly, edging his way around the toilet pit. He gets past the curtain and out into the room proper when he realizes Zoe isn��t following him. She��s frozen, rooted to her place against the wall, gripping onto his outstretched hand. There are tears streaming down her cheeks and she��s mouthing something Eli thinks might be don��t leave me, over and over.


    He glances at her, then at the goons. They don��t have much time. C��mon, he mouths. It��ll be okay.


    ����ground chimera bone,�� Brooklyn is saying. ��Where the hell do kids these days even get chimera bone?��


    ��eBay,�� says Fargo. ��Where else? Most of its fake, but I guess some people get lucky.��


    ��Get unlucky, you mean.��


    Eli tugs on Zoe��s hand, just gently. They have to move. He��s out in the middle of the room and if either of the goons turn around, they��ll see him.


    And then, inch by agonizing inch, Zoe steps forward.


    She��s shaking so hard she nearly slips into the toilet pit. Eli catches her, but the movement of his sneakers makes a crunching sound on the concrete. They both freeze at the noise, brutally loud to their own ears, but . . .


    �� . . . my day sorcerers really knew how to live, y��know? None of this dank bunker bullshit. It was all red velvet and gilt all round.�� Fargo is holding the flashlight while Brooklyn photographs the desk. They don��t seem to have heard anything.


    Zoe stumbles out of the toilet area, lighter and quieter than Eli would��ve given her credit for. After that, they creep quietly towards the exit, Eli praying to whatever gods it is dragons pray to to keep them safe. Zoe is shaking so hard Eli is surprised she can even walk, but she is, and he has a sudden, fierce flush of pride over her bravery.


    Hand in sweaty, shaking hand, they escape the bunker. After the first bend in the tunnel leading out, a wave of physical relief hits Eli so strongly that he stumbles. Zoe catches him, and Eli shoots her a grateful look as he tries to unwind the tendons in his clenched jaw. His entire body feels too-tight and too-small, every muscle poised for fight or flight. Maybe literal flight, if the pressure behind his shoulder blades has anything to say about it.


    They reach the ladder without further incident. Eli sends Zoe up first, hands guiding her hips as she climbs, ready to catch her if she falls.


    She does not fall; instead makes it out of the hatch and into the shack. Then she��s leaning back into the hole, hands reaching for Eli as he makes his own shimmying way up the ladder.


    He��s nearly out when it happens; his pocket, catching on the edge of the hatch��s trapdoor. It only lifts up a little but it comes down hard, the sound ringing through the corridor beneath like a gunshot. Zoe gives a startled yelp, and somewhere down below Eli can hear, ��What was that? Who��s there?��


    ��Run!�� he hisses to Zoe, hauling himself the last few feet out of the hole.


    Zoe doesn��t need to be told twice, her fingers wound with Eli��s as they lunge out of the shack and back into the woods.

 “You’re a minor and your dad’s loaded. You’d be surprised how much that gets you.”

    They aren��t followed. Eli doesn��t think too hard on why, just hurtles with Zoe as fast as they can down the mountain.


    It doesn��t last long. Zoe is good at many things, but running isn��t one of them. Eli pulls her along but eventually she topples to her knees in the dirt, leant forward and gasping. ��I�� I can��t���� she keeps starting, but she��s breathing too hard to finish. Eli just helps her to sit down on a nearby rock and strains his ears to listen for pursuit. Either there isn��t any, or Brooklyn and Fargo are much stealthier than they look. Eli��s betting it��s the former.


    ��It��s okay,�� he says. ��We��re okay. We can stop here.��


    It takes Zoe a really long time to start breathing normally again. Eli thinks she might actually be having some sort of attack, her breath is coming so hard and raspy, her skin like dragonfire beneath his hands. He has nothing to help her through it, so instead he just sits, and tries to say soothing things. If anyone comes across them, Eli will just yell at them until they go get medical help. He figures no ones going to be too suspicious of a girl who��s struggling for air.


    It takes a long time, but eventually Zoe��s breath returns to something like normal. Which is about when she starts sobbing in huge, big, noisy gulps. Eli lets her cry it out against his chest, his arms around her shoulders while her little feather earring tickles his throat. He feels strangely numb, considering everything that��s just happened. Like he��s accidentally poured all his panic and fear into Zoe, maybe, and now she��s experiencing it for the both of them.


    ��It��ll be all right,�� he tells her again. They haven��t gone far enough that they wouldn��t have been found, were someone truly looking.


    ��Th-thank you,�� Zoe mutters between her sobs. ��Thank you f-for . . . for not running.��


    ��Hate to be ungrateful, Zee, but we did run pretty hard there.��


    Zoe shakes her head. ��For not . . . running away,�� she says, voice almost imperceptibly small. ��You could��ve. I can��t . . . I��m not fast. I know that. You could��ve . . . could��ve waited for me to catch up.��


    ��Naw, I couldn��t��ve,�� Eli says, because it��s true. Zoe��s his friend. He would never leave her behind.


    ��Everyone else does,�� Zoe says. ��They always . . . they run away and I��m left behind. Slowey Zoe, always playing catch-up.��


    ��Zee, if I had to I would��ve turned into a dragon and flown you outta there myself.��


    Zoe laughs, the sound thick and wet. ��My hero.�� She sits up straight, sighing and wiping snot and tears from her face with the sleeve of her coat. She makes a kind of huffing, half-scream sort of sound at nothing in particular, shaking her body all over as if trying to dislodge something from her skin.


    Eli thinks he knows how she feels.


    After a while, she says, ��I took the book.��


    ��I know.�� Eli felt it in her coat earlier.


    ��I stole evidence,�� she says. ��From a crime scene.��


    ��You took something from an abandoned bunker in the forest.�� Eli tries to think of what his father would say, the careful way he��d phrase it. ��Maybe next week some time, after you��ve copied what you need, you��ll realize it might be evidence. Then you can hand it in to the cops.��


    ��Will that work?��


    Eli shrugs. ��You��re a minor and your dad��s loaded. You��d be surprised how much that gets you.�� For girls like Zoe, anyway. For himself . . . Eli isn��t so sure.


    ��They weren��t cops, anyway,�� he says out loud, maybe to reassure himself as much as Zoe. ��They were working for Yvonne Lacroix.��


    Zoe nods. ��This is . . . this is getting heavy, Ee,�� she says. ��There were hearts. Human hearts. In jars.��


    ��Four hearts,�� Eli muses. ��Lacroix said there��d been six murders, but we��ve only heard about, what? Three? Two?�� He remembers the little gotcha-smile Lacroix had had the other day, after he��d reacted to hearing the number six.


    ��You think she��s lying?��


    ��I don��t know.��


    ��What if,�� Zoe starts, slowly, as if trialling the idea out loud. ��What if she was testing you? If she suspected you had something to do with the murders, maybe she picked an intentionally wrong number. One that didn��t match the actual number of deaths. So she could see how you reacted.��Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ��If that was the test,�� Eli says, ��I failed it. But so would anyone.�� Either because the number didn��t match their body count or because it didn��t match gossip.


    ��I��m not saying it was a good test,�� Zoe says.


    ��It does sound like Lacroix, though.��


    They sit there in silence for a little while longer, Zoe turning the stolen book over and over in her hands.


    <hr>


    After they come down off the mountain, Eli and Zoe go their separate ways. They both have a lot to think about, and Zoe has a book to study. She promises to tell Eli if she finds anything.


    When Eli gets home, Aunt Addi is in the den, watching Hostel re-runs with her laptop sitting on her knees.


    ��How was Ms. Adeline?�� she asks.


    Eli is prepared for the question but it still feels like something that happened months ago. It��s been a long morning. ��I made fifty bucks,�� he announces, because it��s true.


    It earns him an exasperated scowl. ��Eli����


    ��She insisted,�� Eli says, cutting off any argument about scamming money from little old ladies. ��Said it was good for my capitalist spirit.�� This is an embellishment, and whether or not Addi believes it, she just sighs and asks about Zoe, instead.


    They make small-talk for a little while, Eli carefully skirting around topics like magic, dragons, and sorcerers. Until finally Eli blurts:


    ��Aunt Addi? Can I ask you a question?�� Then, before she can answer: ��It��s about the murders.��


    Addi��s expression goes from of course you can honey to well I��m not sure about that faster than a pat down on a white dude. ��Elias,�� she says, ��you know I can��t talk about that sort of thing.��


    ��I know,�� Eli says. He enters the den, sitting himself down on the couch next to Addi. ��I know, it��s just . . . it��s something Yvonne Lacroix said.��


    That gets Addi��s attention, just like Eli knew it would. Narrowed eyes and everything. ��Lacroix?��


    ��Right. She said something to me the other day. She said there��d been six murders.�� Addi��s face gives nothing away, because deputy, so Eli ploughs forward: ��But we��ve only heard about three. And the way Lacroix said it . . . I felt like, I dunno . . .�� He trails off, breaking eye contact and running a hand over his hair.


    ��You felt like she was testing you,�� Addi finishes for him. She��s not slouching anymore. Is instead sitting up straight and regarding Eli with her Cop Stare.


    Eli nods, bites his lip. ��I kinda . . . I mean, six, right? That��s a lot. So I guess I, kinda, reacted badly?��


    ��Badly how?��


    ��I don��t really remember.�� Because he doesn��t; it feels like a lifetime ago. ��But she got this look, y��know? Like, ��A-hah! Gotcha!����


    Addi makes a sound, a barely audible tsch. She thinks for a while, fingernails tap-tapping on her laptop��s case while, in the background, backpackers scream as they��re being dismembered.


    Finally, she says, ��You don��t talk to Lacroix. If she corners you again, you call me. Right away, you hear me?��


    Eli nods. ��Yes, Aunt Addi.��


    ��I��ll call Bill, let him know what��s going on. You don��t talk to anyone��not the Sheriff, not your teachers, and definitely not Yvonne Lacroix��without him present. I mean it.��


    Eli��s eyebrows have gotten very high, and he nods mutely. Bill Palmer was Dad��s partner, back in New York. Palmer & Drake LLP. After Dad had . . . after the funeral, Bill had put his hand on Eli��s shoulder and handed him a business card. Son, he��d said. If you ever need me, for anything at all, you know where I am. Eli had nodded, still too shocked to say anything more. He��d never once thought he��d actually have to take Uncle Bill up on his offer.


    ��Goddamn Lacroix is a menace,�� Aunt Addi is saying, not really to Eli. ��Her and that whole damn group.��


    Eli can practically feel his spines shift, even if he doesn��t have any right now. ��The Lyddan Group?�� he asks. The question earns him a sharp-eyed stare from Addi, so he adds: ��I heard Mr. Chung and Principal Malek talking about them. Who are they?�� He��s heard Widow Adeline��s explanation. Now he wants Addi��s. Just who do dragon slayers pretend to be in front of the cops?


    Addi sighs, slouching back down against the arm of the sofa. ��It was a long time ago,�� she starts. ��Before you were born, in the 1980s. There were a lot of people at the time who believed there were cults. Devil cults. Hurting children.��


    ��Satanic Panic,�� Eli says. Then, when he gets the Cop Stare again: ��I read about it on Gizmodo.��


    Addi sighs. ��Right. Well. In retrospect it was . . . over-exaggerated. The extent of it. But, at the time, people didn��t want to take the chance. It was kids, you understand?�� Eli nods, and Addi continues: ��The Lyddans appeared around then. They��d crop up on cases, claiming to be experts on cults and so on. They . . .�� Here, Addi stops, chewing her lip for a moment as if unsure how to continue. ��I don��t want you to get the wrong idea,�� she says, slowly. ��The Lyddans . . . they��re not bad people. A lot of people who are bad people are in jail because of them.��


    ��But . . .?��


    ��But they��re . . . zealous. The Lyddans would rather see innocent people go to prison than allow a single guilty one to go free.��


    ��The law doesn��t work like that,�� says Elias Drake, lawyer��s son.


    ��That��s right,�� says Aunt Addi, officer of the law. ��It doesn��t. But a lot of people think it should. The Lyddans are those sort of people. They have a very . . . fixed view of how they think the world should be. And they��re very unforgiving to anything they think falls outside of that.��


    ��I didn��t hurt anyone, Aunt Addi,�� says Eli. Which isn��t quite the truth, so: ��Except Lance Marlowe. But I just bit him. And he started it!��


    ��Lance is one of Arthur Lacroix��s friends, isn��t he?��


    ��Yeah.��


    Aunt Addi seems to process this for a moment. Then, ��All right.�� She nods to herself, as if coming to a decision. ��All right, Eli. Everything will be okay, I promise. You just keep your head down, and stay out of Lacroix��s way. You haven��t done anything wrong, and it��ll all blow over soon. Okay?�� She gives a thin smile, and Eli tries to return it.


    ��Okay, Aunt Addi,�� he says, and tries not to think of wings that glitter like the stars.

 “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

    Very little happens for the rest of the weekend. Eli goes back to see Widow Adeline on Sunday morning, where he��s promptly made to prune a huge hedge made of roses. It leaves him scratched and bleeding and irritated, although the wounds heal up as soon as he assumes his dragon-shape in Adeline��s grotto. It feels good to be out of his human skin, and the sun is shining for the first time in like forever, so Eli lazes around on the warm rocks while Adeline tries to teach him Xyl��tha, the language of dragons.


    Eli never did have much of a way with languages, and the dragons�� in particular is . . . odd. It��s all back-of-the-throat hissing and tongue-clicks. Nothing with the lips, which Eli supposes makes sense, given he doesn��t really have any in this shape.


    The writing system is more interesting, in his opinion. It looks a little like the cuneiform he��s seen on little clay tablets in the Met; all carved lines and angles. And it��s sort of like Chinese, in that it��s made of little symbols, not letters. Except the symbols are syllables, not pictures, and are made up of a part that represents a vowel and a consonant. So what looks like a complex language of thousands of characters is actually only made up of a few dozen different lines. It��s pretty cool, and Eli is writing in it in no time: transcribing English as best he can onto a whiteboard with a chunky marker that sits in his claw like one of Zoe��s ridiculously tiny Asian ballpoints.


    The other thing about Xyl��tha is that it��s gendered, except not like Spanish, where words are ��masculine�� or ��feminine.�� Instead, the dragons apparently divided up the world as ��dragon things,�� ��mortal things,�� and ��evil things.�� So to themselves, the dragons are asa, humans are asyu, and monsters are as��k. Which Eli figures is kind of cool, because so long as he knows one word in a trinity, he can start to work out the others by the endings.


    The language lesson reminds Eli of Saturday, so he asks Widow Adeline about the word he��d heard Brooklyn and Fargo use: utukku.


    ��It��s Akkadian,�� Widow Adeline tells him. ��The language they spoke in ancient Mesopotamia. The utukku were evil spirits. Monsters. It��s a corruption of the Xyl��tha word, as��kki.��


    ��So why is it the go-to noun for our resident dragonslayers?


    Widow Adeline sighs. ��The Lyddan Group has had many names over the ages. Some believe their oldest to be the Sworn of Gilgamesh.�� Then, when the name elicits no reaction in Eli: ��The first dragonslayer. To the takkan, he is Khil��k��nek. He and his lover, Ankitsu, slew the Great Dragon of Cedar, Unk��tsa.��


    ��I see,�� says Eli, who totally doesn��t.


    So Xyl��tha is hard, in other words, and Widow Adeline spends the entire morning drilling it into Eli until his head hurts and his claws ache from gripping the pen. By lunchtime, he still can��t pronounce the difference between xshoyu (eating) and shoyu (sandal), let alone xsh��yu (will be eating) and xsh��yu (was eating).


    ��I��ll never learn this,�� he says, human again, in Widow Adeline��s foyer. He��s tried a few words in human form and they��re even harder to pronounce than when he��s a dragon.


    ��You will,�� says Adeline, patting him on the cheek with a sly half-smile.


    After Adeline��s, Eli goes to hang out with Zoe. They don��t do much. He��s brought his laptop and his ��pad so he messes around with a few half worked-out tracks. Zoe��s is still hunched over the spellbook she took from the sorcerer��s bunker, flipping between reading it and taking notes in her own grimoire.


    ��I figured out why the magic works,�� she announces at one point.


    ��Oh?��


    ��It��s the peryton����xa��r��k, Eli thinks, but doesn��t correct����or, rather, its . . . body parts, I guess?��


    ��Um. Ew?��


    ��Yeah. It��s kind of complicated, but . . . like, the stuff you use in spells, right? The candles and the herbs and stuff? They all have a resonance. That resonance maps them against what the spell uses them for. So, like, walnuts, right? They��re used for protection, so that��s their resonance. But resonances aren��t usually active in mundane items, or if they are, they��re very weak.��


    ��Gotcha,�� Eli says. ��No witchlights in the woods from unactivated walnuts.��


    ��Right. So to get the big magic, you need to activate the resonances of the items in your spell. And the only way to activate a mundane item is to use something that��s in itself magical.��


    ��Like the feather from a magical monster,�� Eli says. Or the sweat of a frightened dragon, he doesn��t.


    ��Exactly!�� Zoe looks up, just briefly, just long enough to give Eli a grin. Then she��s back to studying again. ��That��s why so many Ye Olde Magicke Spells call for things like dragon��s blood����Eli tries not to shudder����or unicorn horns or whatever.��


    ��So, in order to keep the magic up, you just have to, what? Go hunting unicorns?��


    Zoe sighs. ��Something like that.��


    Eli thinks of all the little faevern in Widow Adeline��s grove. They��re almost certainly magical. He briefly considers catching one to offer Zoe, but the mental image of her pulling off its wings to make potions is too horrific. Besides, he doesn��t think she could actually bring herself to do it. ��You could try eBay?�� he suggests instead.


    Zoe just gives a thoughtful hum, and goes back to taking notes.


    <hr>


    School on Monday is both exactly the same and yet, somehow, completely different. It feels . . . small, somehow. Childish. Eli sits through his first period in a daze, the words of his teachers drowned out by the part of him that keeps wanting to conjugate verbs in Xyl��tha.


    Afterwards, one of Arthur Lacroix��s goons tries to bodycheck him in the hall on the way to Chemistry. Eli decides he doesn��t want to be bodychecked and so when the board-shouldered asshole tries to slam him, Eli simply doesn��t give. He��s a goddamn dragon. He��s not going to get sent sprawling because some teenager rammed him in the hall.


    Instead, it��s the goon who winds up on the Lino. Eli doesn��t even stop, or turn around when he hears, ��What the fuck? Hey! Hey, Drake! Don��t you walk away from me, man!��


    Elias Drake walks away. The power of it sends a strange thrilling rush down his spine, even as he thinks, Begone from my sight, mortal.


    In Chemistry, he realizes he��s misplaced his textbook.


    ��Don��t worry, man,�� says Jake Smith. ��We can share.��


    They��re balancing equations today which is basically math so Eli enjoys it. He finds the numbers relaxing, and wonders if there��s a word in Xyl��tha for ��helium,�� or if the language is too ancient. Phonetically, he thinks it would be ��l��i��n, and writes the symbol for it in the margin of his notebook.


    ��That��s cool,�� Jake says, trying to get a look at the shape. ��What is it?��


    Eli shrugs. ��Just something we made up at my old school.��


    ��It looks like runes or some shit.��


    Eli shrugs.


    Counting in Xyl��tha starts from zero and goes: yi��, yus��, ��tsh, xsh����


    ��You should teach me.��


    Eli realizes he��s been writing the Xyl��tha symbols for the numbers in his Chemistry equations. Crap. ��Yeah, man,�� he says. ��Sure. Later.�� He won��t, though. It��s not that it��s forbidden for mortals to know the language of dragons��Widow Adeline had been clear enough on that��its just that if Eli is going to teach anyone it��s going to be Zoe, not Jacob ��slice-of-white�� Smith.


    After Chemistry, Eli has History and Jake has Japanese with Zoe, so they head to meet up at the latter��s locker. They��re turning into that segment of hallway when every single hair on Eli��s body stands up and won��t settle.


    Jake notices. ��You alright, man?��


    My dragon sense is tingling, Eli doesn��t say.


    It��s not really like something supernatural, anyway. More like there��s something wrong with the way people are clustered in the corridor, the way they whisper behind their hands or text furiously on their phones when they see Eli coming. The way there��s a too-big cluster, including too many boys, around the door to the girls�� bathroom, down the far end of the hall.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The way Zoe isn��t waiting for them by her locker. Her open locker.


    ��Get the hell away from that!�� Eli snarls and shoulders some Seniors from ogling the inside of Zoe��s locker. They yelp but jump aside and he slams the door shut and makes sure it��s locked.


    ��Where��s Zoe?�� he demands the nearest Senior. ��The girl who owns the locker. Where��s Zoe Chung?��


    The girl opens her mouth as if to answer, but it��s about then Eli hears the scream. It��s muffled almost as soon as it starts, but there��s no mistaking the voice.


    ��Zoe!��


    The sound came from the direction of the crowd, so that��s where Eli heads, feet chewing up beige Lino in his haste. As he gets closer to the closed door of the girls�� bathroom, he can hear chanting. It��s not coming from inside the bathroom. It��s coming from the phones of everyone standing nearby. They��re in groups of threes and fours, hunched over their screens, a dozen tinny speakers blaring out a chant in almost-unison.


    ��Drown the witch! Drown the witch! Dro-oo-oo-oo-own!��


    And then the edge of a scream. And the sound of a toilet flushing.


    Eli feels a wave of anger rise in him so powerfully it sends his sight tunnel-vision black. All he can see is the door to the girls�� bathroom, innocuous and seafoam green. As he approaches, two guys step forward to stop him. They aren��t tall but they��re wearing short sleeved t-shirts with an intent to show biceps, of which they have plenty. Eli thinks they might be football players, and has a vague memory that one might be called Dean.


    The one who is not-Dean puts a hand out as if to stop Eli as he approaches. ��Hey,�� he says. ��You can��t go in there, man.��


    Eli shoulders past him. Or tries to; both maybe-Dean and not-Dean try to stop him, and all three of them end up in an awkward scuffle. Eli can still hear the toilet flushing behind the door��the third time now, he��s been counting��and the hot, itchy feeling is coming beneath his skin again. He knows he��s half a second away from going dragon in the middle of the corridor, and possibly the only reason he hasn��t already is because it would make him too big to fit through the bathroom door.


    ��Hey. Hey, you some kind of weirdo or something?�� maybe-Dean is saying. ��I said, you can��t go in there.��


    Behind the door, the flushing stops. Eli can hear the chanting again, and sobbing, but less of it is coming from the phones lining the corridor. From the corner of his eyes, Eli can see a lot of those phones are now turned on him, filming him with their blank, dead-glass eyes.


    ��Get. Out. Of. My. Way.�� Eli spits each word so hard he��s surprised he doesn��t see fire.


    Not-Dean crosses his arms. ��Or what?�� he says.


    Behind the door, the chant��s intensity is rising. Eli knows he doesn��t have much time.


    ��Or this,�� he says and, before he��s really thought about it, lashes out with a fist aimed just beneath maybe-Dean��s ribcage.


    There��s a part of Eli��the one, tiny rational part that��s hiding beneath the rage��that doesn��t think it will work. That he��s going to miss, or not hit hard enough, or . . . or something. That he��s going to be left standing here in the middle of a hallway, facing off with two assholes from the football team.


    He thinks that, for half a second, right before maybe-Dean goes down like the Marianna Trench.


    ��Jesus fuck!�� says not-Dean. He barely spares Eli another glance, just lunges sideways to where his idiot friend is gasping on the floor, arms wrapped around his waist.


    Eli doesn��t stick around to see the aftermath. Instead he darts around them, and slams through the door to the girls�� bathroom just in time to hear the start of another round of flushing.


    ��You get the fuck away from her!��


    It��s not the best opening line but it sure does prompt a lot of screaming. Half a dozen girls are all suddenly staring his way, eyes wide. At least four of them are jammed into one of the toilet stalls, holding down someone between them. From the stripped leggings sticking out of the stall and the half-ruined papier-mach�� candy-cane horns discarded on the floor, Eli knows it��s Zoe.


    There��s a very loud, metallic clatter as the girl who was filming the event��streaming it live, even��drops her phone onto the tiles. The sixth girl in the room, the final girl, doesn��t even so much as blink.


    Somehow, Eli isn��t surprised to see Morgan Lacroix.


    ��You shouldn��t be in here,�� she says. ��This is the girls�� bathroom.��


    Zoe��s black Mary Janes clatter against the floor as she tries to lift her head out of the toilet bowl. There��s something weak about the movements Eli doesn��t like.


    ��Let her go,�� he says.


    ��Get back, Elias,�� Morgan says. ��This is girl stuff. You wouldn��t understand.�� There��s a look in her eye that��s almost . . . sad. Eli doesn��t like it. He doesn��t like it one little bit.


    ��I understand plenty,�� he tries. ��Let her go, Morgan. I don��t want to hurt you.�� He doesn��t. He really, really doesn��t. Not even enough to add a but I will to the end of the sentence.


    ��You don��t get it,�� Morgan says. ��I know you think she��s your friend, but I found this in her locker.�� It only occurs to Eli that Morgan is holding something when she lifts it up to show him. Eli recognizes it immediately: Zoe��s grimoire.


    Or, rather, what��s left of it.


    ��What did you do?��


    Half the book is a torn-out mess; most of the pages Zoe��s written on, in fact. Eli sucks in a sharp breath as he catches sight of the crumpled remains of several sheets, wet and scattered in the stall where Zoe��s being held.


    ��Have you . . .�� he starts. ��Have you been flushing them?�� Tearing out Zoe��s book page-by-page, throwing the paper in the toilet, then pushing her face down into the bowl to give her a good, close look at what they��re doing. ��You��re monsters!��


    ����Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,���� Morgan quotes. ��She��s evil, Eli. I��m sorry.�� The worst part is, she does look sorry. Morgan is pale and thin and her eyes are anime-huge; great big smoke-shadow pools of blue looking up at him in earnest sympathy. ��Look,�� she holds out a page. ��There were more like it. Lots more.��


    Almost in spite of himself, Eli takes the offered paper. He sees scraps of Zoe��s pseudo-archaic handwriting: red ?ilk corde, wyte ?tones, ro?e talowes.


    ��It��s a love spell,�� Morgan says, taking a half-step closer to Eli. ��She was trying to control people��s minds. That��s why they��re dangerous, Elias.��


    ��Enough!�� The only reason Eli doesn��t crumple the page in his fist is because he��d never do that to something of Zoe��s.


    But Morgan isn��t listening. ��And look,�� she says instead, holding up something else. ��It was pressed between the pages.��


    It��s a tuft of hair, dark and curly and carefully tied up with red thread.


    ��This is your hair, isn��t it?�� Morgan says.


    In the stall, Zoe has gone very, very still. From the corner of his eye, Eli can see her shoulders shaking. She��s sobbing, very softly.


    Eli doesn��t reach up to feel the hair at the base of his neck, but it��s a close thing. He wonders when Zoe cut it. And she must��ve cut it; the chunk is small but too even to have been collected any other way.


    Morgan takes another half-step forward. ��Elias,�� she says, eyes still large, soft pools of summer-sky blue. ��I��m sorry. But you can see we can��t allow this to go on. It��s not okay.��


    Eli feels his lips thin down into a hard, sharp line. ��No,�� he says. ��It��s not okay.��


    Morgan��s shell-pink lips curl, soft and sad. ��I knew you��d����


    ��None of what you��re doing is okay.�� He grabs what��s left of the grimoire, tearing it from Morgan��s grasp. She shrieks in surprise, yelping as she hops backwards.


    Eli turns to the girls in the stall. ��Let her go,�� he says. Then, when they don��t move: ��Now.�� He puts his dragon-self into the word, so much that it��s more of a roar. The girls shriek and leap away from Zoe like she just caught fire. She crumples, not into the toilet (thankfully), but just beside it, fingers white-knuckled around the bowl. She still won��t look at Eli, not even when he walks right up to her.


    ��Hey, Zee. C��mon, let��s get out of here.�� When his fingers touch Zoe��s shoulder, she flinches as hard as if he��d slapped her.


    ��Don��t touch me!�� she hisses.


    ��Zee����


    ��Don��t!�� she snaps. Then, softer, ��Just go, Eli.��


    ��Zoe, don��t do this. C��mon we gotta get out����


    ��I said leave me alone, Elias Drake!��


    Zoe��s shriek all-but bounces in the hard-surfaced space of the bathroom. She��s turned, just enough to glare up at Eli. Her face is wet and her eyes and red and her make-up is a Joker-smear of red and black. She has one huge zit on her forehead and a constellation of its smaller fellows smeared across her cheeks in an awful parody of a blush. Her skin is red and blotchy and exposed where the concealer has been washed away.


    Eli backs up, hands raised. ��Okay,�� he says. ��Okay. I . . . okay.�� There��s something wrong in his heart and his gut but he��ll think about it later. ��We��re going.�� He shoots a look at Morgan. ��All of us.��


    ��Elias . . .��


    ��All of us,�� he snaps, over Morgan��s protest. He glares, vicious as he can, at her until she relents. One little head tilt at her coterie and the other girls start shuffling to the door.


    Morgan follows them, slamming the door open with both hands as she stalks out. ��Show��s over, folks,�� she snaps as she does. ��Don��t you losers have classes to get to?�� Eli knows the hall will be empty by the time he follows.


    He gets halfway to the door before he turns around. Zoe hasn��t moved; is still hunched over the toilet bowl, face buried in one hand. She looks small and ashamed and alone. Her discarded horns are bleeding orange paint all over the tiles.


    ��Zoe . . .�� Eli starts. Then doesn��t know what to say.


    He watches Zoe for a while longer, but she doesn��t move. Eventually, he sighs, and walks out the door.


    As expected, the corridor outside is mostly empty.


    ��Dude. What happened in there?��


    Empty except for Jacob Smith, that is.


    ��Leave it,�� Eli says. Very carefully, he slips the torn love spell back into the remains of Zoe��s grimoire.


    ��Holy sh�� is that Zoe��s��?��


    ��I said leave it, Jake.��


    ��But what about��?��


    It��s like Eli left some part of himself behind in that bathroom. The part of himself that would��ve stopped him from grabbing Jake by the front of his hoodie, hauling him up to eye-level and snarling, ��Shut. Up.�� Before dropping Jake so hard he staggers.


    Jake glances between Eli and the toilet door, and there��s . . . a moment. Tense and ugly. Eli wonders, very briefly, if Jake is going to fight him.


    Jake does not fight him. Instead, he visibly deflates, then takes two steps backwards. ��Right,�� he says, still not meeting Eli��s eye. ��Yeah, right. I��ll just . . .�� he makes an abortive movement with his head. ��Right.��


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli. ��You do that.��


    ��Right.�� One step, then another, then a third. ��S-see ya, Elias.��


    ��Sure.��


    Eli watches, unmoving, until Jake disappears around the corner. Then he sighs, and slumps against the wall.


    He��s still leaning there when the bell for next period rings.


    He doesn��t see Zoe leave the bathroom, or at all for the rest of the day.

 “íl’iàn. That’s such a pretty name.”

    Eli keeps expecting someone to haul his ass up over the Bathroom Incident, but no one does. People avoid him in the hallways, though. Where before he was invisible, now he��s feared. It��s not a feeling he��s unused to, exactly, and it��s definitely not a feeling he enjoys. Like hanging out with a whole school filled with the old women in fur coats who won��t sit next to him on the subway.


    The rest of the day passes in a sort of flat daze. Eli keeps jumping between buzzing numbness and cold, sharp rage. He isn��t sure who he��s more angry with: Morgan, for ruining everything, or Zoe for sending Eli away. After he��d saved her. After she��d, what? Tried to bewitch him?


    He wants to tell himself the magic would never have worked, but Zoe��s own words keep coming back to him: the only way to activate a mundane item is to use something that��s in itself magical. Like the hair of a dragon, for example. Eli keeps running his hand through his curls, trying to find the chunk that��s missing. He thinks maybe there��s a piece low near the back but he can��t be sure; if it was cut, it��s mostly grown back by now. Which means Zoe must haven taken it ages ago, maybe right when Eli first came to the school.


    Goddamnit, Zoe.


    Addi is out again when Eli gets home which, honestly, he��s fine with. He has a mountain of homework built up that he��d been too busy playing draconic Scooby Doo to work on, so he attacks the pile now with vicious enthusiasm. He puts on dubstep loud enough to shake the walls, and tears through algebra problems like the rotting flesh of a peryton.


    An hour later, the sun is down, Aunt Addi still isn��t home, and Eli��s homework pile has shrunk to essays for History and English. They aren��t due tomorrow and he can��t focus on them tonight, so instead he eats half a cold pizza straight out of the box in the fridge, and decides to go running.


    It��s dark out, darker than it should be; the clouds are still hanging low and leaded and they bring the twilight quickly, even for this time of year. There��s a bite to the air but Eli warms up well enough after a block or so, feeling the comforting heat begin in his legs and his lungs.


    Running in Rosemont is nothing like running in Manhattan. It��s barely seven o��clock but the streets are all-but deserted, just the odd car zooming beneath dull streetlights.


    Manhattan is never empty, and never dark, and suddenly Eli misses it with such a powerful ache that it stops him dead. He doubles over, hands on his knees and eyes clenched shut hard enough to send black and red fireworks blooming behind the lids.


    He misses his city. His friends. His school.


    His parents.


    It��d been okay, in Rosemont. Almost like a holiday; a dislocated summer out of the city. He��d found Zoe in the library and they��d hit it off and��


    And now even that memory is broken. Seeing Zoe sitting by herself, reading Iron Man, ��Because I just saw the film and wanted to check out the comic, y��know? For . . . research.�� A little bite of her red-glossed lip Eli would later learn was her way of stopping herself from confessing she was reading the comic to research her latest Stony fanfic.


    ��Extremis is okay,�� Eli had said, ��but I always thought Ellis��s indie work was better, y��know?�� The next day, he��d brought in copies of Fell and The Authority to prove it, and that��d been the start of . . . of everything, really.


    Eli wonders, now, how real that memory is. Whether Zoe��s enchantment was working on him even then. Drawing him to her so they could, what? Geek out about comics?


    Zoe hasn��t messaged Eli since the Incident, but he hasn��t messaged her, either. He has his phone in his hand and is staring at their chat history before he��s really realized what he��s doing. Just talk to me, he wants to type. Tell me you didn��t . . . do what Morgan said you did.


    Eli does not send the message. He can��t. Because what if the answer is ��yes�� and what if the one friend that Eli��s made since he came here he made because of some stupid magic spell? It��s not Zoe��s fault she didn��t know it would work��-didn��t know Eli��s stupid magic dragon hair would make it work��but so what? She still wanted it to. Wanted to . . . to ensorcel him, like some kind of crappy CW filler episode villain.


    Eli stares down at his phone for a long time. Finally, he closes out of the messages app.


    He��s just about to check Zoe��s Tumblr, just in case, when he hears the scream.


    It��s a girl��s scream, high and terrified, and is followed by a horrific, and horrifically familiar, shriek.


    ��No!�� Eli breathes, to no one in particular. ��No, I killed you.��


    The scream comes again, and Eli heads towards it, jamming his phone back in his pocket as he does.


    It��s coming from the direction of the school. Rosemont isn��t big enough to have that many places to jog to, and the route to and around the school is familiar, so it��s the one Eli��s legs have taken him on.


    He reaches the school��s parking lot just in time to see a pink and white streak dash across it, followed closely by the unmistakable shadow of a peryton.


    Eli doesn��t think. The dragon wants to rise, so he lets it; feels his limbs thicken and his claws lengthen, feels the wings burst from his back. He lunges mid-transformation, but by the time he crashes into the peryton his dragon is out and ready to fight.


    The peryton seems surprised to see him, and so does the girl, who screams again. Eli has one moment to look up and realize the girl is Morgan, of all people, clutching a black instrument case in front of herself like a shield. Eli has a vague recollection she��s in the band, which explains her presence at the school after hours, if not the lack of a crowd brandishing other instrument standing behind her.


    Their eyes meet across the car-park. Morgan seems frozen��Eli supposes the appearance of two mythical beasts will do that to a person��and the peryton is stunned, but probably not for long.


    Eli yells, ��Run! Get inside, I��ll handle this one!��


    Morgan shrieks, just slightly, before saying, ��I can��t! There��s one in there, too!��


    Halfway through the last sentence, something else heavy and dark and full of claws slams into Eli��s side.


    It��s enough to throw him, and he ends up rolling over and over on the blacktop in an awkward tangle of wings and tail. His arc is eventually stopped by a car, a large Chevy SUV that ends up with a dent in the side and a loudly protesting alarm.


    He scrabbles to his feet, tearing the side mirror off the SUV as he does, and has to blink three times before he realizes he hasn��t hit his head and that, yes, there really are two peryton standing in front of him.


    ��There��s more of you?�� Eli exclaims, aggrieved, in the single moment he gets before one peryton lunges for him and the other heads for Morgan.


    Eli leaps at the latter, not even thinking, just moving, and manages to rake his claws into its flank even as he feels the second peryton land on his back.


    ��Run!�� he roars at Morgan.


    She does, tearing off with a sprinter��s grace not towards the school but into the surrounding woods. The two peryton notice and make chase, or try to; the one Eli��s holding doesn��t get far but the other kicks off his back and into the air.


    What follows is, perhaps, one of the most awkward fight ever enacted. Whatever drives the peryton, it seems ��killing Morgan�� outranks ��not being killed.�� Eli will lunge at one only to be overtaken by the other, rinse and repeat. They��re halfway across the oval and Morgan has vaulted over the boundary fence and into the woods by the time the peryton get their act together and start the actual teamwork. This involves one devoting its entire attention to Eli while the other escapes towards Morgan; when Eli tries to make chase towards the latter, he��s quickly stopped by flashing talons and a snapping, razor-toothed maw.


    Hoping Morgan can hold out long enough to find a good hiding place, Eli turns to the monster on his case. Fighting it is easier than fighting the first one; he��s more sure in his body, now, feels more like his limbs are his own rather than some kind of avatar he��s controlling from the outside.


    He��s bigger and faster and the peryton knows it has no chance as soon as Eli��s teeth sink heavily into its shoulder. It screams and flails and its blood tastes like copper and asphalt, but Eli holds on. He��s seen enough nature documentaries to know the bite will be fatal if he just waits, pinning the peryton with his body and shaking his jaws every time it twitches.


    It seems to take a very long time to stop twitching. As it does, Eli imagines an eerily glowing human heart, slowly going dark as it sinks to the bottom of a jar.


    He doesn��t get time to dwell on the image, not when another scream comes from the woods, followed closely by the howl of the second peryton.


    Eli regrets Morgan��s directional choices as soon as he hits the tree-line. He��s not as ungainly on land as the peryton are, but he��s bigger, and crashing his way through the woods knocks over more trees and snaps more branches than he��s really comfortable with. It��s going to look like someone drove a car through here. A car with four claws. So much for not leaving evidence of his existence.


    Morgan is screaming pretty solidly, which makes her easy to find. For Eli and for the peryton, who has Morgan bailed up in the branches of a tree and is snapping and leaping towards her. Morgan gets a few good whacks in on it with her instrument case, but from her expression Eli can tell she knows it won��t be enough.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    He roars, lunging. The peryton is too focused on Morgan to notice him and it goes down with an indignant squark as he buries his claws into its back and his teeth into its neck. He tries not to think too much about how much revolting black blood he��s getting all over his face, and what it��s going to look like when he changes back.


    The third peryton goes down easier than the first two, and Eli gives himself a moment of silent congratulations on getting the hang on the whole protecting-mortals-from-monsters business. This, of course, is about when he hears the whimper, and remembers Morgan��s still stuck up the tree.


    Eli stands up, on his haunches, which puts him about eye level with Morgan. She��s shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the few drops of rain that have started to make their way through the leaves.


    ��Hey. Are you okay?�� Eli asks, because he feels he should.


    Morgan��s ice-blue eyes flick between him and the dead peryton and back again as she blurts, ��You can talk!��


    ��Um . . . yeah?�� Eli wonders if he should have pretended otherwise, though supposes there��s no point starting now.


    ��You�� you��re a dragon!�� It��s not quite a question, not quite an exclamation.


    Eli looks down at himself��at the soft, pale scales of his belly��before feeling like an idiot and looking back up again. ��Yeah?�� He hopes his voice is different enough like this that Morgan won��t recognize it.


    ��You saved me!��


    ��That��s what we do,�� Eli says. ��Us dragons. We save people.��


    Morgan breathes in, a sort of reverse gasp, and an expression unfolds on her face. It takes Eli a moment to place it as wonder.


    ��Thank you,�� she breathes. Her eyes are huge and her lips are a plump, pink O as she reaches out a hand. Eli doesn��t realize what she��s about to do until she��s already done it; her soft pale fingers ghosting across the side of his muzzle. ��You��re beautiful,�� she says. ��Like . . . like stars.��


    ��Er, thanks?��


    ��I��ve never seen a dragon before. I didn��t . . . I didn��t think they were real.��


    ��There aren��t many of us,�� Eli says. ��And we��re, y��know. Hunted.�� By people like your mom, he doesn��t add. ��So we have to hide,�� he does.


    Morgan nods so hard her hair blurs around her in a thrash metal halo. ��I understand,�� she says. ��I won��t tell anyone about you. I swear.��


    ��Thanks.�� Eli glances down at the peryton, already half-rotted into the grass. ��What happened?��


    Morgan��s expression falls from glossy wonder into storm-cloud anger. ��We had practice,�� she says, indicating her instrument case. ��After school. I stayed late. I usually do, y��know? For some peace from . . .�� She pauses, looks away. ��For some peace. Mr. Browne doesn��t mind. Tonight, as I was leaving, I heard a noise behind me in the hall, and . . . and that . . .�� Her voice chokes.


    ��It��s a peryton,�� Eli says, because he figures knowing is better than not knowing. ��A monster.��


    Morgan nods. ��There was another one at my car. They were . . . they were waiting for me.�� Her voice hitches again, as if the implications have only just struck her. ��They . . . the murders,�� she says. ��They��re what��s been causing the murders!��


    Eli nods. ��I think so. I though there was only one, and I killed it the other day. I didn��t realize there��d be more.��


    ��H-how many?��


    ��I don��t know,�� Eli says, even as his mind counts jars and supplies four. ��We think they��re being controlled by someone. They need to be summoned.��


    He knows it��s a mistake by the way Morgan��s eyes light up, sharp and interested. ����Someone�� like  a witch?��


    ��Er . . .��


    ��I know who��s doing it.�� She��s talking quickly, now, leaning forward with the urgency. ��There��s a girl. At the school. Zoe Chung. She��s horrible. Creepy and weird. And she . . . she does things to people. Casts spells on them. My friend, Jayla? She��s in Zoe��s gym class. They were playing basketball and Zoe says Jayla pushed her into the wall. Jayla totally didn��t! Even the teacher knew she didn��t. The next day, though, Jay came down with, like, the worst case of zits. Like, all over her face. She was so upset. And Zoe? She just laughed, and said Jay deserved it and now everyone could see how ugly she was.��


    ��Uh . . .�� says Eli.


    ��Don��t you see?�� And, there it is. The family resemblance between Morgan and her mother, shining bright and terrifying. ��Zoe cursed Jay! Jayla is going to have scars, like, forever because of that. Because of that vicious little witch!��


    Eli blinks, once, and considers his next words carefully.


    ��Even if that were true,�� he says, ��it��s a bit of a step up from pimples to murder. Serial murder. And why . . . why would you be targeted?��


    Of all things, Morgan blushes. Bright enough that Eli can even see it under her makeup.


    ��I . . .�� she starts, then sighs. ��Don��t, like, groan all at once, but there��s this boy. He��s new. New-ish. From New York. He . . . hesreallycute,�� Morgan blurts out, all in a rush. She��s blushing so hard she might burst into flames. Eli, meanwhile, is suddenly deeply, unaccountably grateful he��s both covered in scales and looks kind of like a lion.


    ��Zoe . . . I guess she figured I had a . . . a crush. On this boy,�� Morgan continues. ��She cast a spell on him. So he��d fall in love with her.��


    ��Er . . .�� says Eli.


    ��It��s true!�� Morgan has that Lacroix Look about her again. ��I found her spellbook. She had a lock of his hair. And love spells and . . .�� She pulls herself straighter. As much as she can without falling out of the tree. ��And Mom always said magic is evil. That we should fight it whenever we find it. Kids, they read Harry Potter or play video games and they think it��s all a joke! Just waving wands and chanting silly words and making lights appear. But it��s not! Magic is evil. It��s sent by demons to tempt us to sin. When I found out what Zoe had done to . . . to the boy she ensorcelled����Eli tries not to wince at the echo of his own, earlier thoughts����then I got so angry I . . .��


    ��You?�� he prompts, when Morgan falters.


    She looks away, shoulders trembling. ��I��m not . . . proud,�� she says. ��Of what I did. I was just so mad and . . . and so we dragged Zoe into the bathroom and we flushed her.�� Then, when Eli says nothing: ��It��s what they used to do. In the olden days. They used to dunk witches in the river until . . .��


    ��Until they drowned?��


    Morgan says nothing, but she still won��t look at Eli.


    ��And you think Z�� this girl. You think she sent the peryton after you in revenge?��


    Morgan nods, unhappy and, maybe, just a little ashamed.


    Eli is the son of a lawyer and the nephew of a cop and he supposes, at a stretch, it could be true. Zoe has the book from the bunker, after all. It might have described the ritual to summon the peryton. Except . . . she��d need some piece from a magical beast to jump-start it, right? And a human heart maybe? Eli isn��t sure, but even still, he��d be willing to bet money that summoning giant monsters took a bit more than weaving protective charms and locator spells.


    ��The sort of magic needed to summon one peryton,�� Eli starts, ��let alone several, is . . . not easy. It might be beyond the skills of a high school hedge witch����sorry-not-sorry Zoe����but . . . I��ll keep what you��ve said in mind.�� Eli is totally, a-har, winging things right now but, hey. He��s hoping the fact he��s a dragon the size of a car will convince Morgan he knows what he��s talking about.


    Morgan nods, obviously unhappy with the answer, but willing to defer to Eli��s obvious dragon-ness for now. ��I��m Morgan,�� she says suddenly. ��Morgan Lacroix.�� She turns her eyes back on Eli, big and hopeful, and Eli is struck with the sudden, horrible realization he needs to give her something in return.


    ����l��i��n,�� he blurts, because it��s the only thing that comes to mind. ��Um. Yeah. ��l��i��n����what had Widow Adeline called him?����Blacklight of the Tch��ku.��


    ����l��i��n,�� Morgan repeats, mangling the tones only slightly more than Eli himself. ��That��s such a pretty name. What does it mean?��


    What does ��Morgan�� mean? Eli does not ask, and instead says, ��Erm. ��Of the Bright Star.���� Because it��s true enough.


    Morgan is doing the hair-thrashing nodding thing again, eyes anime-huge in her thin, pale face. ��That��s so beautiful,�� she says. ��It suits you.��


    ��Erm . . .�� says Eli, because it��s the only thing he can think of to say. Morgan is pretty, yeah, but she is . . . she is so not Eli��s type it��s not funny. Eli��s last girlfriend, Radia, had been whip-smart and wry and absolutely brutal with a softball bat. They��d broken up about two months before . . . before The Accident, mostly because Radi had decided she needed to focus on ��studying, not boys.�� They��re still friends on Facebook, and they send each other texts and photos and have nebulous, not-quite-plans to go to Yellowstone between high school and college. Radi, Eli knows, is His Type: bookish and driven and kind, with thick eyebrows and soft curves and silky dark hair he��d always thought about and tried not to look at, the few times it��d slipped from underneath her hijab.


    Morgan is like the anti-Radi. Even if she is looking at him like her very own My Little Pony doll come to life. Especially because she��s looking at him like that, in fact.


    ��Hey, how ��bout I get you down from that tree?�� Eli suggests. ��You should probably, y��know. Get home?�� He doesn��t mean it to sound like a question, but Morgan doesn��t seem to notice. She��s too busy looking at his outstretched claws. Not in fear, though. Whatever that expression is, it��s definitely not fear. Honestly, if Morgan asks to ride him, Eli is done. So, so done.


    He does help her down from the tree, though. She feels cool and light and fragile in his claws, her hair disheveled and makeup smudged. She��s lost one shoe in her escape, and, because this is Eli��s life, the second she gets her feet (or, well, foot) on the ground, the drizzling rain finally makes up its mind and starts coming down for real.


    <hr>


    So that��s how Eli ends up sitting in the woods with Morgan Lacroix for the better part of an hour. She curls up against his side, his wing opened above her like a big umbrella. She is absolutely enjoying the experience more than Eli is, particularly when she opens the instrument case to reveal a violin inside.


    It��s not that Morgan is bad at playing the violin, because she isn��t. It��s what she chooses to play.


    The song is familiar in a way that nags at Eli, long enough for him to finally ask, ��What music is that?��


    Morgan stops mid-note and flushes a delicate, shell pink. ��Um,�� she says. ��Don��t laugh, but . . . you remember that boy I told you about? He, um. He makes music. Like, with a computer?�� Lilting up like a question, in case Eli doesn��t know what she��s talking about.


    Eli knows what she��s talking about, though. Oh, how he does. Because the song suddenly clicks; it��s his song. ��Increment IV,�� he��d called the upload, the same one that��d done sort-of-not-really all that great on YouTube.


    ��It sounds pretty different on the violin,�� Morgan is saying which, yeah. Go figure, it sure does. ��But I think . . . it��s got, like, a really sweet melody. The original kind of hides that behind all the bass and whatever.�� Eli tries not to wince at, like, forty hours of effort being reduced to bass and whatever. Morgan doesn��t even notice, just powers on with, ��And it��s not really my thing, you know? But Arthur��that��s my brother��he, like, played the track non-stop for like three months����wait, what? Arthur is a closet fan of Eli��s?����and I guess part of it kinda stuck?�� Morgan is still saying. ��And then Elias, that��s . . . y��know, the guy . . . he transferred to our school! Small world, right? And he��s really, y��know.�� Cue more blushing. ��But he won��t even look at me, he��s too much in the thrall of that witch Chung. And I guess it��s stupid but I thought . . . I thought maybe if I could get his song right, and then play it for him . . . y��know?��


    ��I guess?�� is about the most coherent answer Eli can give. Holy crap but this is . . . this is not information he was expecting to have to deal with tonight. Jeeze.


    Morgan is pretty good at playing, though, and eventually Eli finds himself sort of . . . humming along. His voice as a dragon is a deep, bass reverb that almost sounds like that throat singing Buddhist monks get up to in the mountains. Morgan picks up what he��s doing and starts kind of riffing along with it.


    And thus Elias Drake ends up singing a duet in the rain with Morgan Lacroix, next to the fast-rotting corpse of a mythical monster.

 “No knights today, King Arthur?”

    The next day is awful.


    The first thing Eli sees when he walks into Rosemont High is Yvonne Lacroix. She��s standing there with her two lackeys, Fargo and Brooklyn, and for one, heart-stopping moment all Eli can think is:


    Morgan told!


    Which is irrational, of course. Even if Morgan had told her mom she��d spent yesterday evening in the forest with a dragon, why would Lacroix think that dragon was Eli, of all people? Unless Lacroix has some kind of magic dragon-sniffing mojo but . . . but surely Widow Adeline would��ve mentioned something like that, right? For being pretty, yanno. Life-or-death and whatever? Eli would totally text her to ask except Widow Adeline is like a thousand years old and still has a phone with a cord and a dial on the front. And not even in an ironic way.


    Yvonne Lacroix, as it turns out, does not appear to have magic dragon-sniffing mojo. She does, however, give Eli a very tight smile when she sees him, accompanied by a slight incline of her head.


    ��Mister Drake,�� she says. ��My daughter, Morgan, explained our little . . . misunderstanding. I must extend my apologies, for everything that��s been done to you. Rest assured, such injustices will not happen again.��


    ��Um,�� says Eli. ��Yeah. Sure. Don��t worry about it.�� He edges away from Lacroix and around the corridor before he lets himself slump down hard against a bank of lockers, hand coming up to grasp around the dragon-scale pendant, hidden safely beneath his hoodie. He knows, down in the depths of his flaming nebula dragon-heart, that he absolutely cannot allow Lacroix to see the pendant. Or know where Eli got it from.


    He��s so busy being paranoid about the pendant that Lacroix��s actual words don��t start making sense to him until third period. It��s Economics and he��s supposed to have it with Zoe, and by the time he��s sitting at his desk he feels like he��s run a marathon, what with all the sweating and heart-pounding.


    He hasn��t seen or talked to Zoe since the Bathroom Incident yesterday. He caught a glimpse of her, briefly, this morning in the hallway so he knows she��s here. Their eyes had met, kinda, and Eli had been about to step forward and say something when Zoe had looked down and changed directions, hair falling in front of her face like blue-black GAME OVER screen.


    im not mad, Eli had texted her. just wanna talk.


    He��s pretty sure it��s true. Like, maybe 86.53% sure it��s true. Even if he is mad, he wants to hear Zoe��s side of the story. Dad had always been big on that; not judging until you��d heard both sides. Because maybe Zoe did some bad magic but maybe also Morgan was lying about the whole love spell thing. Morgan who, Eli now knows��or, rather, ����l��i��n�� now knows��has all kinds of reasons to lie about Zoe, at least where Eli is concerned.


    Except, if Morgan had been lying, why is Zoe now avoiding him?


    God. Why is everything so difficult? Being a teenager sucks. And that��s not even counting all the monsters and dragons and the pop quiz Mr. Raddatz has decided they��re all doing. Or all of them except for Zoe, who still hasn��t appeared.


    She hadn��t been in cosplay, Eli had noticed. When he��d seen her in the hall, earlier. Just jeans and a plain black knit jumper. Eli hadn��t even really known Zoe owned outfits that didn��t relate to fictional characters in some way. Even Zoe��s pajamas were character-themed.


    Eli blows through the test pretty easily, despite not really being in the game. Economics is just math, mostly, so it��s not that hard. Afterwards, he finds Jake in the corridor, outside his locker, and is about to try and ask him about Zoe when the dude slams his door near-hard enough to bend it.


    ��Hey, Jake, have you seen��?��


    And that��s when Eli��s life goes totally inside-out nuts, because Jacob ��Sliced-White�� Smith, totally bodychecks Eli with his shoulder. It isn��t very effective��Eli is strong now he��s a dragon��but Jake more than makes up for it with his snarled, ��We have nothing to talk about, Drake.��


    ��Dude!�� Eli says, startled. ��What the hell, man? I just����


    Jake shoves him. Full-on shoves, sending Eli slamming back against the lockers out of surprise if nothing else. ��Fuck off,�� Jake says. ��You��ve done enough damage.�� Then he sneers, and stalks off.


    Eli��s too shocked to do much but watch him go.


    Things get even weirder at lunchtime. Zoe isn��t at their usual table, and neither is Jake, and Eli��s feeling at a bit of a loss. Like it��s his first day all over again, knowing no-one. And maybe he has been kinda insular since he got here, it��s just . . . he��d been having so much fun with Zee and . . . and he just hadn��t really gotten around to making any other friends and . . .


    ��Hey! Elias! Over here!��


    And, suddenly, there��s Morgan Lacroix, smiling and waving at him from across the cafeteria.


    It��s a trap! thinks Eli, very clearly, before walking right into it.


    Morgan is sitting with a bunch of her friends, all the other pretty, popular girls who��d helped try and drown Zoe yesterday. They have bright white smiles like circling sharks, and Eli watches them with just as much trepidation.


    ��Hey,�� he says, sitting down next to a girl he thinks is called Ainsley. He��s on the end of table��a good place for a fast exit��and eyes Morgan warily as he picks at his low-fat-low-sodium-low-taste fauxburger.


    ��How are you feeling?�� Morgan asks. ��After yesterday, I mean?�� She��s not talking about the peryton, Eli is pretty sure. At least, he hopes she isn��t. If Morgan works out he��s the dragon? Yeah, he��s screwed.


    ��Fine,�� he says. Then, ��Haven��t seen Z�� Chung around today.��


    Morgan gives her hand a floppy sort of wave. ��Mom��s got her in interrogation,�� she says. Eli wonders if dragons are cold-blooded, like lizards, or whether that��s just the terror that��s giving him the chills. Morgan continues, oblivious: ��Something about . . . some cabin? On the weekend? They found hearts. Human hearts. In jars. Mom says Chung is a ��person of interest.���� Some of the other girls giggle, apparently at the idea anyone could consider Zoe Chung interesting. Eli hates every last one of them.


    ��Human hearts?�� he says, instead, which earns him a wide-eyed nod as Morgan leans forward, reaching out until her hand is laid across Eli��s.


    ��Don��t worry,�� she says, with all apparent seriousness. ��She won��t get away with what she did to you. Mom will make sure of it.�� Morgan��s top, Eli notices, is rather low cut. She��s also wearing earrings shaped like dragons. He wonders if Yvonne Lacroix would approve.


    Eli doesn��t talk much after that, just picks at his burger while Morgan and her friends chat about shows they like and the math class Ana-with-one-N is flunking. Which is about when Morgan says, ��You��re good at math, right Elias?��


    ��I guess?��


    ��Maybe you can help us study sometime?��


    ��Sure,�� says Eli, who has absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort.


    Instead, he excuses himself not long after, muttering something about the fauxburger making him want to hurl. It kinda did, honestly, but that��s not why he bolts out of the cafeteria. Instead, he has roughly ten minutes to go hunting for Zoe before he needs to get to English.


    He has absolutely no idea what he��s going to say to her if he does find her, though does briefly entertain the idea of just dragon-ing it up and busting her out the wall of the building, away from Lacroix��s clutches. As it turns out, his plan doesn��t get much further than that because that��s about when the third Lacroix find him and slams him up against a wall.


    ��You,�� Arthur Lacroix sneers, pretty, pasty-ass face far too close to Eli��s for Eli��s comfort. ��You stay away from my sister.��


    And, suddenly, just like that, things click. Why Arthur can seem to hate him and be a fan of his music all at the same time.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Eli laughs. It��s dark and ugly and almost like a growl, but he is just so sick of this shit. People are dying. He doesn��t have time for Arthur Lacroix��s bro code bullshit.


    He pushes Arthur off him, not bothering to hide his strength. Arthur stumbles and nearly ends up on his ass, which is about when Eli notices Arthur is alone.


    ��No knights today, King Arthur?�� Eli says.


    ��I don��t need them,�� Arthur says, though Eli notes he doesn��t attempt to get all back up in Eli��s face. ��Not to deal with the likes of you.��


    ��I told you, man. Keep talking like that, you��re going to start getting letters from the ACLU.��


    ��Listen, asshole.�� Now Arthur does take a stop closer, or half of one. ��If you so much as breathe near my sister, I swear to god I��m going to hunt you down and make a goblet out of your evil lizard horns.��


    Eli��s eyebrows shoot up. Shit, he thinks, even as his mouth says, ��What the hell are you talking about, Lacroix? I wouldn��t touch your skank-ass sister if you paid me.��


    Which, of course, in the way of bro-on-bro trash talk, is what gets Arthur really riled up.


    ��Hey, fuck you, Drake. What the fuck you saying��s wrong with my sister?��


    ��Uh, asides from the part where that psycho bitch tried to drown my best friend?�� Eli rolls his eyes, big and exaggerated. ��Like I said, you couldn��t pay me to go near that crazy.��


    ��You don��t talk about Morgan that way, you hear me? In fact, you don��t talk about her at all. You don��t talk about her, you don��t talk to her, you don��t go near her or so much as look at her, you hear me?��


    ��Fine by me.��


    ��Because if you do, there won��t be enough of you left to����


    Eli is spared from the tedium of further threats when the bell rings. Arthur swears, glancing between Eli and the door to the cafeteria, listening to the swell of noise headed their way.


    ��This isn��t over, Drake,�� he says, apparently coming to a decision.


    ��Whatever, Lacroix.�� Arthur has more, from the look of him, but Eli��s done listening, and he turns and walks away. He hears the scuff of shoes on Lino as Arthur makes as if to follow, but doors on both ends of the hall bang open and the lunch rush floods back in. Eli darts between the bodies, losing himself in the crowd before Arthur can so much as process the influx of people. Eli is good at hiding in crowds��he��s from Manhattan, of course he��s good at hiding in crowds��and he uses it now, slipping down hallways and up staircases. He can be five, maybe ten minutes late to class. Ms. Worthington hates him anyway, and he has the same excuse he gave to Morgan if he needs it. Of course, Zoe��s supposed to be in English, too, but something tells Eli she won��t be. Not if Lacroix has her hands on her.


    He should call Mr. Chung, he knows he should. Assuming Zoe hasn��t already. Except, what did Morgan say? Cabin in the woods. Which means Lacroix knows, or thinks she knows, they were there at the sorcerer��s lair. And Eli can��t rat Zoe out, not even after yesterday, not even to her dad.


    In the end, he finds Zoe in the councillor��s office, because apparently it��s now Lacroix��s designated interrogation chamber. Lacroix is sitting at the table, across from Zoe, a series of photographs in the space between them. Zoe is trying very hard not to look at the photographs. Eli can��t see them very well from where he��s standing but he can see enough to know they each contain an awful lot of red.


    Before he��s really thought about it, Eli opens the door and strides into the room. His eyes meet Zoe��s, briefly, and he sees a moment of something that might even be hope before it��s shuttered away. Eli has half a second to do the same before Lacroix has turned to face him, eyebrow raised with a, ��Mr. Drake?��


    ��Sorry, Ms. Lacroix.�� Eli tries very, very hard to keep his voice in the apathetic-to-slightly-annoyed register. There��s no way he��s getting away with this otherwise. ��Ms. Worthington sent me to get Zoe. For English.��


    Lacroix sighs, carefully sweeping up her photos and turning them face-down on the table. Closer, Eli can see they��re absolutely positively pictures of eviscerated human corpses, chests burst open and faces contorted with pain and terror, even in death. A part of Eli, the part that sounds like his father, wonders if that��s even legal, showing photos of murders to a minor. It feels like the sort of thing that shouldn��t be.


    ��We normally knock, Mr. Drake,�� Lacroix says. ��When we enter rooms.��


    ��Sorry.�� Eli��s fingers itch, like he can feel the claws trying to push through beneath the nails. One bite. It��s all it would take. A maw full of fangs to the artery and . . .


    And he��d be no better than the peyton, no better than Lacroix expects him to be. Morality, Eli thinks, in that moment, really sucks. What��s the point of being a giant flying monster if you don��t even get to eat a few people?


    ��I told Lola I��d need Miss Chung for the rest of the day,�� Lacroix is saying, and it takes Eli a moment to realize she must be talking about Ms. Worthington. ��She��d agreed it would be acceptable.�� She doesn��t sound suspicious, exactly. But definitely like she could get suspicious at any moment.


    Which is why Eli just sighs and shrugs. ��Whatever. Keep her if you want, I don��t care. I��m just the messenger.��


    ��Sent to collect your ��friend?���� Lacroix��s weird flesh-toned lips curve up into a smirk.


    Eli scoffs, turning as if to leave. ��Whatever. I��ll tell her you��re busy.��


    ��No, no.�� Lacroix stands, rising like a salt pillar in Eli��s peripheral vision. ��I think we��re done here. Please.�� She gestures, half to Eli, half to Zoe. After a moment, Zoe stands up. She still won��t meet Eli��s eyes.


    ��Remember what we talked about, Miss Chung,�� Lacroix says, as Zoe moves past her. ��We know you weren��t alone at the cabin. I think you��ll find things will go a lot smoother if you just let us know who you were with.��


    Zoe says nothing, following Eli out of the room like a shuffling shadow. He heads back to English and Zoe follows, two steps behind and silent bar the occasional sniffle. Eli doesn��t dare break the silence until they��re three corridors and a staircase away from anywhere Lacroix might be listening. Then he stops, and turns.


    ��Zoe���� he starts.


    ��I didn��t rat you out,�� Zoe says, before he can add much more. ��So don��t worry about that. Besides, it��s not like Lacroix would believe me, now you��re besties with Morgan.�� Her voice is bitter, hateful in a way Eli��s never heard before. In a way he doesn��t like.


    ��What are you talking about?��


    ��You know,�� Zoe hisses. ��I heard about your little love-in.��


    Something about that doesn��t sit right, not at all. ��Heard about from whom?�� Eli asks. ��And when?��


    This earns him a curled lip. ��Taking interrogation tips from Lacroix, now, are you?��


    ��Zoe����


    ��Jake was right about you!�� Zoe is backing up, a strange, glassy look in her eye. Eli feels something, like a shiver just beneath his scales and a churn in his belly, all at once.


    This isn��t right, he thinks. Something isn��t right here . . .


    ��Zee,�� he says, trying for calm. ��Zee, please. This is important. What did Jake say about me? Was he the one . . . did he say he saw me with Morgan Lacroix?��


    Zoe blinks and, for a moment, Eli sees her come back to herself. Her eyes are wide and startled and she��s looking at Eli like she has no idea where he came from or why they��re talking.


    ��Zoe,�� he says again, taking a step forward. ��I think something bad is happening, I���� And he puts his hand on Zoe��s arm.


    It��s a light touch, barely more than a brush of fingers, but the effect is explosive. Literally explosive; a burst of oil-black magic that flares a sickly purple-green and throws Eli back against the wall. His entire soul seems to protest at the contact, shuddering in rage and disgust and it��s all he can do to bite down against the transformation that wants to take him then and there. To tear open his fragile human shell and unleash claws and fangs and purifying flame against the vicious coils of dark magic he can feel roiling off Zoe like oily smoke. Feel and see, and Eli��s breath sucks in at the sight; Zoe wreathed in sickly dark tendrils, eyes dark like black holes as she sways back and forth, ever so slightly.


    On the wall behind her, cut in much greater detail than the diffuse light in the corridor should allow, Eli sees the tattered shadow of a peryton.


    ��No . . .�� The word forces out of him in a breath. Then, louder, as he staggers to his feet. ��No! Let her go!�� He feels something thrumming in his chest. Not the dragon, something else. It feels a bass-line and tastes, impossibly, like starlight. It loathes the darkness; loathes the corrupted black void currently growing from Zoe like a cancer.


    Zoe, the thing controlling Zoe, laughs. It��s dark and heavy and twisted, an over-produced reverb echo, and yet there��s something familiar at the core. Like Eli is listening to a voice he knows beneath the distortion. ��Drop the white-knight act, Drake. It doesn��t fit you.��


    ��Damn right,�� Eli says. ��Things like me eat white knights for breakfast.��


    He lunges. Not with fangs and claws, but he has a half-assed idea that if he can get to Zoe, get her on the ground, then��


    Then she��s flicking her fingers, dismissive, congealed smoke flying off the ends like oil. When the drops hit Eli��s chest it��s like being caught with a punch from Saitama. He goes flying backwards again, this time hard enough to leave cracks when he hits the wall. It hurts. Not a much as it should, but enough to force the air from Eli��s lungs and leave him gasping for more. He struggles to right himself, sliding up against the wall while the not-Zoe raises its hands once more. It grins, sharp and cruel and feral, and Eli braces himself for whatever it has in store.


    ��No!��


    The scream rings down the empty hallway, followed by the squeak of trainers as Zoe stumbles backwards. When Eli next looks up, Zoe is Zoe again; dark smoke still coils around her but it��s clearer, and her eyes are her own. Sweat beads on her brow and her whole body trembles, as if with the effort of keeping the shadow at bay. When her eyes meet Eli��s they shine with tears.


    ��Zoe!�� Eli takes a step forward, arm reaching out. Zoe takes a step back just as fast. Then another, then another.


    ��O-oh gods,�� she��s saying. ��Oh gods . . . s-stay away from me! Stay away!��


    There��s another pulse of magic, like something inside Zoe just went supernova. Except this is more silvery moonlight than oily black hole, and it does nothing more to Eli than ruffle the edges of his hair.


    The shadow fares less well, receding like a cockroach in a torch-beam. It doesn��t flow into Zoe, Eli notices; it flows into her backpack, and he tucks that thought away for later. Zoe gives him one final, panicked look, then flees. Eli lets her go.


    She never does make it to English class but, then again, neither does Eli.

 “Are you saying I should breathe fire all over Zoe?”

    Aunt Addi is gonna be pissed about Eli skipping class, but he figures she can deal. This is an emergency.


    It��s an emergency that sees Eli ringing the buzzer of the mansion atop Rosemont Heights, hoping desperately Widow Adeline doesn��t have bridge club or Power Yoga or whatever else it is old women get up to during the day.


    He gets buzzed in, which is a good sign, and Adeline greets him at the top of the driveway. She��s wearing knee-length yoga pants and some sort of crop-top/loose-shrug ensemble that really shouldn��t look so good on someone so old.


    Widow Adeline, as it turns out, is kinda ripped.


    Eli is sweaty and panting from running all the way from the school, but Adeline looks about the same. ��By the stars, boy,�� she says. ��Whatever��s the matter?��


    ��I think my friend��s been possessed,�� Eli blurts, because it��s the nearest explanation he has for the oil-smoke and malevolent presence he��d felt on Zoe.


    Widow Adeline regards him for a moment, head tilted. Her hands and feet are taped up and she has sweat stains on her top, and Eli suddenly wonders if he��s interrupted kickboxing practice. Is the old lady at the top of Rosemont Heights secretly some kind of martial arts master as well?


    He��ll think about it later. Right now, Adeline sighs and invites him inside. They sit in her huge kitchen, oddly modern and minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and Eli blurts out everything he can about the peryton, the cabin, and Zoe.


    He omits the part where he spent the evening with Morgan Lacroix. As a dragon. Somehow, he doesn��t think Adeline will approve.


    ��From your description,�� Adeline says when Eli is through, ��I suspect your little witch friend is under the influence of a r��s��k.��


    ��A reesawk?�� Eli butchers, and Widow Adeline sighs.


    ��R��s��k. There��s . . . no good single word for it in English. A talisman, I suppose, but the connotation is evil.��


    ��Right.�� Eli picked as much up from the ending. Bad words in Xyl��tha end in k, or kki if there��s more than one. By extension, Eli supposes that if a r��s��k is an evil talisman, then a r��s��a must be a good one. Like the protection amulet Zoe made him, what seems like a thousand years ago now. ��How do I destroy it?�� he asks.


    ��With the xyl��k��a, of course,�� Widow Adeline says, as if it should be obvious. Then, at Eli��s blank stare. ��The dragon fire, my dear. Your dragon fire.��


    ��I can��t breathe fire,�� Eli points out.


    ��Not yet, no,�� Adeline says. ��But eventually, yes. And the k��a does not burn so much as purify. If your friend is pure, she��ll be quite safe.��


    It takes Eli a moment to work out what Adeline is saying. ��Are you . . . are you saying I should breathe fire all over Zoe?��


    ��Yes, of course.�� Window Adeline waves a hand, as if it��s the most obvious thing in the world.


    ��Isn��t that . . . dangerous?��


    ��Only if her heart is impure, my dear. Only the shyu����k, those who practice dark magics, have anything to fear from the k��a. If your friend is shyu����yu, the fires should do her no harm. I��m even told they can be . . . invigorating.��


    Yu is the neutral ending. Eli wonders about that, about why Adeline would use that rather than shyu����a, which Eli assumes would be the word for ��good witch.��


    Is Zoe a good witch? Eli wants to think so, but . . .


    But he remembers a lock of hair, pressed between the pages of a grimoire, and suddenly isn��t so sure.


    ��Okay,�� he says. ��So . . . assume I can��t do the fire breath thing, what��s plan B?��


    Adeline sighs. ����Plan B,���� she echoes, as if the words are distasteful, ��is that you find the r��s��k itself, and attempt to destroy it conventionally.��


    ����Conventionally�� how?��


    ��It depends on the r��s��k. For an item made of wood or paper, fire will be sufficient. But if your shyu����k is clever, he will have used a less destructible material; metal or stone.��


    ��In which case I need to, like, chuck it into Mount Doom?��


    The corner of Window Adeline��s lip curls, just slightly. ��You know, Tolkien was no friend to our people,�� she says.


    ��You don��t have to tell me that.�� Eli gestures to himself, which earns him a shrewd glance from Window Adeline, then a slight nod.


    ��No, I suppose not. But in any case, yes. A volcano would be sufficient to destroy even the most powerful of r��s��kki. Though I doubt it will come to that.�� Even still, she says it like tossing things into volcanoes is a totally normal thing to do. Maybe for mythical flying lizard monsters, it is.


    ��The, like, the smoke or whatever,�� Eli says. ��I think it was coming from Zoe��s bag.��


    ��There are many ways to create r��s��ur,�� Adeline says. That��s the neutral plural form, meaning she��s talking about any kind of talisman, good or evil. ��Some are keyed to a specific individual, and can inflict good or ill over distance. Others must be kept on the person, and their corruption can be spread from target to target.��


    ��Uh . . . does that mean if I touch this thing, that it might do to me what it did to Zoe?��


    Window Adeline huffs, lips pressing into a thin line. ��It is . . . possible,�� she admits. ��It would depend on the power of the shyu����k. Corrupting the heart of a xyl��takka is no simple matter, but it, unfortunately, can be done. I would . . . advise caution, if handling becomes necessary.��


    ��I��m guessing gloves aren��t gonna cut it?��


    ��Not unless they��re magic gloves.�� Adeline is smirking when she says it, just slightly.


    <hr>


    Eli doesn��t run into Zoe on the way out of Window Adeline��s giant gated mansion, and tries not to feel too disappointed by the fact. He does consider going to her house, but he isn��t sure what sort of reception he��ll get from her parents; whether Zoe told them about . . . whatever.


    He��s considering sending a text, wondering if the wording hey check ur bag i think sum1 slipped u the bad juju would successfully convey what he means, when the day takes a sudden turn for the even worse.


    ��Yo, Drake. We��ve got unfinished business.��


    Zoe and Window Adeline aren��t the only people who live in the Heights, as it turns out. So does Arthur Lacroix.


    Eli is on one of the side roads, more of a walking track than something designed for cars. The nearest houses are a quarter mile in each direction, completely swallowed by the surrounding trees. Even if Eli screamed, they might not hear him.


    Arthur is behind Eli, about a dozen feet back, one of his goons��Val, Eli thinks, although they��re somewhat interchangeable��standing by his side. Neither of them look like they��re here to talk.


    ��Don��t be an idiot, Lacroix,�� Eli says. ��This is a public road, not the school.��


    ��I��ve told you before,�� Arthur says, stalking forward, ��your kind��s not welcome here.��


    ��Dude, seriously. And I��ve told you you need to cut that shit out.�� Eli knows Arthur means the whole turning-into-a-monster thing but, still. C��mon.


    Arthur makes a low, disgusted growling sound, close enough to reach out and grab Eli by the hoodie. Eli doesn��t try and prevent it. Let Arthur posture and threaten; he can��t actually hurt Eli, not any more.


    ��You listen to me you piece of shit,�� Arthur hisses. ��You stay away from my sister����


    ��Arthur?��


    ����you stay away from my house����


    ��Hey, Arthur?��


    ����you stay away from my mom����


    ��Arthur!��


    Val��s hand on Arthur��s shoulder finally jerks him out of his tirade. He rounds with a snarled, ��What?�� except . . .


    Except, oh. That snarl? It��s not from Arthur. It��s not from anything human at all, in fact.


    Val��s grip is white-knuckled against Arthur��s shoulder. He��s staring into the trees, off to the side and just behind Eli��s shoulder. Arthur follows his gaze, and it��s almost comical the way his eyes big out and his skin goes a kind of ashy white.


    Eli doesn��t even need to turn to know what they��re looking at. He can feel the presence of the peryton behind him, like oily black smoke oozing up his spine. It makes his claws itch beneath his fingertips, even as he says, very calmly, ��It��s behind me, isn��t it?��


    Arthur��s eyes flick to him, just briefly, then back again. His mouth gapes open and closed, choked little half-sounds escaping from his throat.


    ��I tried to tell you,�� Eli says, feeling he��s being very reasonable, given the circumstances. ��But now? Now I suggest you run.��


    Arthur makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak. Then he turns tail, and heads straight for the trees on the far side of the road. Which would be fine. But for the fact his fingers are still wound in Eli��s hoodie.


    ��Whoa��!��


    ��Move!�� Apparently Arthur has his voice back. ��Move move move move move!�� He��s pulling Val along with the hand not holding Eli, and the three of them barrel into the woods together in a rough tangle of limbs. Behind them, the peryton screams and makes chase.


    Eli��s mind is racing. He has to get away from Arthur and Val. He can take down the peryton on his own but he doesn��t want to transform in front of Arthur Lacroix, of all people. He has to get them to leave him behind, except he can��t for the life of him think of a reason. He��s still not thinking of a reason when the ground decides on one for him, snagging a root around his trainer and sending him to the ground with a crash. He bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood and the momentum of the fall sends his bag slamming into the back of his skull. It hurts��too many heavy textbooks, for one��although somewhere through the daze he manages to think, Yes, perfect.


    The heavy tha-thump of the peryton��s awkward run is approaching and Eli manages somehow to struggle out of his bag and flip himself over. His vision won��t focus right and everything is a confusing riot of thumping footsteps and blurry shadows. He tries to reach inside to find the dragon, fingers just closing around its smooth-scaled tail when he��s startled out of the transformation by strong hands, hauling him upright. ��C��mon!�� a voice yells in his ear. ��Move!��


    ����Rth��a?�� he manages. ��No! No, y��were���� Supposed to run, he can��t quite make his mouth say.


    ��Jesus, Drake. Shut up and get moving!�� is all Arthur says in response, hauling Eli up and slinging and arm over his broad shoulders. Eli��s feet stumble and trip, but he manages a step or two.


    ��P��ryton,�� he slurs. He must��ve hit his head harder than he though; everything feels very fuzzy and distant and talking is nearly impossible.


    ��Mo is buying us some time,�� Arthur says, and Eli has no freaking clue who he��s talking about.


    Except that��s when he hears Val scream out something lot like, ��Die, monster!��


    Turning his head is weird and floaty, but Eli manages it just enough to see Val lunge towards the peryton, a fallen branch clutched in his hands like a sword.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    After that, time seems to move in slow motion. Eli hears himself scream ��No!�� clearer and louder than anything he��s managed since tripping. He tries to lunge forward, tries to grab the dragon��s tail, to summon wings and claws and damn whomever��s watching but he��s still too slow. Like he��s playing a videogame of his own body with his hands and the controller set in jell-o.


    The peryton shrieks it��s awful death-shriek, opening its jaws far wider than it looks like its face should allow. It strikes forward, Val brings down the branch.


    He hits it��Eli will always remember that, whatever else, Val hit the damn thing��and the branch shatters. The peryton? The peryton doesn��t even flinch. Instead, it tilts its head to the side, jaws catching around Val��s throat. It pushes him to the ground, and that��s about when Arthur starts screaming, too.


    Val goes down beneath the peryton, its jaws closing into his skin with a spray of��


    A spray.


    It doesn��t kill him, not like that. Instead, it shifts its weight to one awful, taloned claw. Brings the other one up and shoves it through Val��s chest with a sound like snapping branches and tearing canvas. Val jerks, just once, and then the peryton is hopping backwards, dripping claw closed around a fleshy lump.


    ��Oh, fuck,�� says Arthur, and throws up all over Eli��s shoes.


    The lump is trailing . . . cords, and the peryton snaps them free with its jaws. Then it gives another awful shrieking howl as the thing in its talon begins to glow.


    Now, Eli thinks. I should kill it now.


    Except he can��t. He can��t move, can��t think, can barely breathe. It��s like that night, all over again, two cops in his doorway and I��m sorry son there��s been an accident and Aunt Addi crying and an endless cold corridor that stinks of bleach and rotting meat.


    Something is happening to the peryton. It��s shaking, a weird jerky vibration like a horror-film special effect. A too-fast-too-slow Jacob��s Ladder hum, sticky bright light pulsing at the centre. The humming builds, the sound tearing apart like it��s trying to hit both ends of the octave all at once. The shaking follows suit, violent enough now that it looks like the peryton is in two places at once, overlaid like bad 3D until, with one final shrieking mitosis tear . . . it is.


    And there are two peryton, standing over a dead body.


    ��Holy. Shit,�� Arthur says.


    Well, Eli thinks. At least we know how it reproduces.


    Out loud, however, he says:


    ��Run!��


    The peryton are disoriented, ungainly feet rustling through the leaf litter. It isn��t going to last, though, and Eli grabs a handful of Arthur��s letter jacket. He hauls as he starts running, not in any direction more particular than ��away,�� when he feels Arthur start pulling him to the side.


    ��No, this way!�� Arthur says. ��C��mon! I know a place.��


    They don��t have time to argue, so Eli follows. He can already hear the peryton snap and shift behind him.


    He runs with Arthur, deeper into the wooded area in the centre of the Heights. The houses are arranged vaguely in a ring, Eli recalls; a central circuit feeding off into the little side cul-de-sacs with one or two or three mansions nestled in the trees. The centre, though, is undeveloped. Just trees and a looming shape up ahead. A pile of huge, jagged stone towering up like an artificial mountain. Excavated from the mansions�� basements, maybe, and left here to save the cost of removal.


    It��s this structure Arthur dives towards. Behind them, the peryton are chasing once again, feet thundering on the ground in a way Eli more feels than hears. He��s running so madly he doesn��t have time to stop, just slams into the rock pile, jagged edges cutting into his palm.


    ��Here! Here! Quickly!��


    Arthur is hauling him sideways again, and suddenly Eli finds himself being stuffed between a crevice in the stones. The fit is tight enough that he hears the rip of fabric as his hoodie catches on the edge, and he��s halfway through protesting when he suddenly pops sideways and ends up sprawled in a space much more open than he expects. Arthur follows��faster and with fewer dramatics��mere moments before the hulking green-black shadow of a peryton falls over the gap.


    Eli sees one mad, grime-crusted eye rolling between the stones, then a long talon reaches through.


    He lets out a startled curse, scrabbling back and out of reach. His back hits shotcrete, not stone, and the ground beneath is paved with large, neat tiles.


    Tiles the peryton��s claw is currently scratching grooves into the surface of. Trying madly to reach them. It can��t, though; the space inside is too big for its claw, the gap outside too small for its body.


    The peryton shrieks in rage, changing claws, trying to shove its snout into the hole as well. Like some kind of awful cartoon cat, pawing at a mouse-hole, and the image makes Eli laugh.


    It��s not nice laughter, shaky and thin, but he can��t seem to stop it. After a moment, Arthur joins in.


    <hr>


    Eventually, the peryton gives up trying to get through the hole, and instead just sits down to wait. Eli isn��t sure where the second one��s gone; for a while, there are some awful noises overhead that suggest it might be climbing up the rocks, but eventually they fade. Which just leaves him and Arthur, alone in a dark, damp, concrete dungeon.


    There��s no cell reception, because of course there isn��t.


    ��Rebar in the concrete,�� Arthur says, when he sees Eli waving his phone around and cursing. ��You won��t get signal.�� His head is bobbing and weaving, trying to get a glimpse of the peryton as it stalks outside. ��Shit,�� he breathes. ��What is that thing?��


    ��Peryton,�� Eli says. ��Monster summoned by an evil sorcerer.��


    ��That . . . that��s what��s been killing people.��


    ��Now do you believe it wasn��t me?��


    Arthur turns, eyes wide and mouth gaping. ��I . . .�� he says. Then he swallows, slowly and deliberately. ��Yeah,�� he says. ��I . . . I��m sorry.��


    Eli shrugs. ��I��m sorry too,�� he says. ��About . . . y��know . . .�� He makes an abortive gesture outside.


    Arthur winces, closing his eyes and looking away. ��Mo . . . Jesus, Mo . . .��


    Eli can��t help himself, ��I thought that dude��s name was Val?��


    Arthur gives one choked-off not-laugh. ��That . . . that was a nickname.�� He��s still not looking at Eli, his voice cracked and thready. ��Val . . . he was Sir Percival.��


    ��Your little Knights of the Round Table thing.��


    A nod. ��We . . . it was funny, y��know? Dad, he��s an Arthurian scholar. Hence . . .�� He gestures at himself. ��I met Lance in grade school. He really is Lance, and our ��rents thought it was, y��know. Cute, or whatever. So we started doing nicknames.��


    ��Shit.�� Eli gives up on the phone and slumps down against the wall, instead. ��I��m sorry, dude.�� He doesn��t know what else to say. Arthur is a douche and his goons are worse, but there��s a mile between that and getting a heart torn out by a monster.


    ��I��m gonna kill it,�� Arthur says. ��For Mo. I��m gonna fucking kill it.��


    ��They don��t go down easy,�� Eli says, before he��s really thought about it.


    Arthur turns to him, eyes wide. ��You��ve killed one before?��


    ��Yeah,�� Eli says. More than one, he doesn��t add.


    ��Shit.�� A long pause, then: ��Mom would know what to do.��


    Eli scoffs, he can��t help it. ��Your mom,�� he says, a sneering emphasis on the word, ��is too busy trying to get me to admit to murder because ��Sir Lance�� is a narking little turd.��


    This earns him a narrow-eyed glare. ��Lance didn��t say squat to Mom.��


    ��Well, someone did.��


    ��It wasn��t any of us.��


    ��Sorry to break it to you, dude, but no one else out there is convinced I��m some kind of heart-eating monster.�� Mostly, people just think he��s kind of a loser. It��s not a perception Eli has tried to change.


    Arthur just scowls and looks away. After a while, he says, ��Your other groupie, what��s his name?��


    ��Jake?��


    ��Yeah. I��ve seen him talking to Mom.��


    Eli gets a very strange feeling, a tingling sort of chill shivering across his hidden scales. ��When?��


    Arthur shrugs. ��I dunno. Couple of days ago? I saw him leaving the office. Mom asked if I knew him.��


    ��What did you say?��


    Arthur makes a gesture Eli interprets as, What is there to say?


    ��Jake didn��t rat us out either.�� Eli tries to make his voice confident, but there��s something there, some niggling edge . . .


    Whatever it is, Arthur doesn��t need to know about it.


    <hr>


    In the end, they don��t actually kill the peryton. It��s not for lack of trying on Arthur��s part.


    ��You said you killed one! C��mon, we can��t just sit here!��


    ��I didn��t do it with my bare hands, numbnuts,�� Eli had snapped in response. He��d spent most of their time under the rock pile sitting on the cold, damp ground, back against the stones. Arthur had taken to pacing, and to seeing how close he could creep to the exit.


    When he��d ended up on his ass with the front of his jacket ripped to shreds, Eli had just sighed.


    Eli had been considering transforming anyway when he��d heard the scream. A woman��s voice, back in the direction of the road. Eli made out the words, ��Oh God, John, call 911!�� in between the hysteria.


    ��I guess they found Mo,�� Arthur had said.


    The peryton had cleared off about the time the Sheriff had shown up. After some bickering, Eli had followed Arthur out of their hiding place and down towards the bright flashing lights of the cruisers.


    Aunt Addi is covering Val��s body when Eli and Arthur finally make it back to the scene. It takes her a moment to process his presence; she just stares, blank-faced and blinking, like she can��t believe he could possibly be at the scene of a crime. Then she��s rushing forward, pulling him into a fierce hug even as she turns his gaze away from Val��s glassy-eyed corpse.


    ��Elias!�� Her voice sounds almost broken. ��You can��t be here, baby. You have to go. This isn��t����


    ��I saw it,�� Eli says. ��I saw who killed him.�� The words feel strange on his lips. Numb, almost. Like maybe up until now Val hadn��t really bitten the big one; had just been joking around, playing pranks.


    Except this isn��t a prank. This is cops and body bags and I��m sorry son there��s been an accident. This is real.


    ��He chased us,�� Eli is saying. ��We hid in the rocks.��


    Aunt Addi holds him out at arms�� length, face folding into what Eli thinks of as a Cop Expression. Piercing and distant. ��You saw it?�� she asks him. ��You saw who killed this boy.��


    Eli pointedly does not look at Arthur. They��d agreed on the story before they��d emerged from the cave. Eli nods. ��Not well,�� he adds. They��d agreed on that, too.


    ��I want to speak to my mother,�� Arthur says, voice a little too-loud and too-shrill. He��s standing with his back to the body, looking sort of sweaty and ashen.


    In the end, both Arthur and Eli get driven to the station. Not by Addi, by one of the other deputies. Eli doesn��t know the guy��s name but he��s got the same air of quiet, affected kindness Eli remembers from the night his parents . . . from The Night.


    Yvonne Lacroix meets them at the station. As soon as she sees Arthur she rushes forward to embrace him, crying his name. It��s the most human gesture Eli��s ever seen from her, and he looks away, his heart suddenly sick for his own mother. For her honey-gold eyes and soft, warm skin.


    Lacroix��s maternal fussing drops as soon as she has Eli and Arthur alone in one of the offices. It��s not an interview room and they��re not being recorded, and none of it feels like anything that would hold up in court. As soon as Arthur blurts out, ��We saw it, Mom. We saw the monster,�� Eli knows court is not where any of this is going to end up.


    Eli lets Arthur do the talking, interrupting only to give the monster��s name. Arthur��s account of the incident wavers a bit when he gets to Val��s murder, but otherwise remains steady and is reasonably factual. Eli tries not to be surprised. There��s a part of him that expected Arthur to embellish the story, to invent bravery or heroics. The fact that Arthur doesn��t . . . Eli will store away for later.


    For now, Lacroix is looking at him, eyes shrewd and cold. ��And you,�� she says, ��do you have anything to add?��


    Eli shrugs. ��No.��


    ��But you��ve seen the Emanations before?�� That��s the word the Lacroixs use to describe the peryton. Apparently ��monsters�� isn��t secret-society enough.


    ��A few times,�� Eli says.


    ��And you didn��t think to tell me this before?��


    Eli just stares at her, disbelieving. Then scoffs, and looks away.


    ��People are dead, Mister Drake,�� Lacroix says. ��If you think I have time for your petty little wounded-boy ego, you��ll find you are quite mistaken.��


    ��Two days ago,�� Eli reminds her, ��you seemed pretty convinced I was the one killing people.�� In the corner of the room, Arthur is making frantic shut up idiot gestures behind his mom��s back.


    Lacroix tilts her pale, thin face. ��We know you were with the Chung girl at the cultist��s hideout.��


    Eli has just enough time to feel a sweeping hot-cold roil of anger and fear before Lacroix is adding:


    ��Miss Chung wouldn��t say as much, of course, but my agents aren��t blind, Mister Drake, and your appearance is . . . distinctive.�� She gives him a raking glance from head-to-toe. Mostly head, though, and Eli fights down the urge to run his hand over his hair.


    Instead, he shrugs. ��We were just messing around in the woods. It was there. We didn��t do anything wrong.��


    ��And yet you told no one of what you found? Potential evidence in a murder investigation.��


    ��Your goons showed up,�� Eli says. ��So we figured you had it covered.��


    ��And so you ran?��


    ��Yeah. There��d been enough trouble. We didn��t want more.��


    He gets another one of those sharp, scrutinizing stares from Lacroix. She drums her fingers against her thigh, just once, then:


    ��How did you find the . . . ��shack?���� She says the word as if it��s physically distasteful. Eli figures she probably has some fancy Lyddan Group word for it she wants to use instead. Like ��Sanctum�� or ��Arcanorium�� or whatever.


    Eli gives another noncommittal shrug. ��Like I said, we were out in the woods. We��d never seen it before and it looked cool, so . . .�� he trails off, hopes Lacroix can fill in her own blanks.


    ��We can detect arcanic vibrations,�� is what gets written into the space. ��There was quite a significant disturbance. That��s how my people found you.��


    ��Lady, I have no idea what you��re talking about.�� Which is a lie, and information Eli files away for later. He��ll have to tell Zoe to be careful.


    Lacroix gives a mean little smile. ��Of course you don��t. Just like Miss Chung, I��m sure, also has no idea.��


    Eli doesn��t bother to respond.


    ��Very well,�� Lacroix says after a moment of silence. ��If you have nothing further of value to add, I��ll take my leave. I��m sure someone will be in to take a formal statement shortly. I trust you��ll know what to say when they do.��


    ��Yes, ma��am,�� Arthur says, even as Eli wishes he��d thought to record this conversation when it started. A whole chunk of his life starts looking easier if he can get Yvonne Lacroix taken down for encouraging two kids to lie to the Sheriff about a murder investigation.


    Isn��t that what you��ve already done? asks Eli��s traitorous inner voice. He squashes it down because, well. Monsters. Literal, claws-and-fangs monsters. What��s the Sheriff, compared to that?


    ��You shouldn��t do that,�� Arthur says, when Lacroix is out of the room.


    ��Huh?��


    ��Treat Mom like that. She��s not the bad guy. She��s just trying to protect people.��


    ��Not people like me,�� Eli��s mouth says before his brain can stop it.


    Arthur makes a frustrated clicking sort of sound in the back of his throat. ��Dude,�� he says. ��Seriously? Not everything is about���� he waves a hand in Eli��s direction.


    ��About what?�� Eli challenges. Say it, he thinks. Say it out loud.


    But all Arthur does is stare at him, throat working and eyebrows drawn down into a petulant scowl. After a moment, he looks away. ��Whatever, Drake,�� is all he says.


    Eli just stares resolutely at the wall until a deputy comes to take him away.

 “Ugh! I don’t believe you, Drake!”

    On Wednesday, Aunt Addi lets Eli stay home from school. Barely.


    ��I want you to call,�� she says, hands on his shoulders, eyes staring earnestly into his. ��Every hour, okay? If you don��t call, I��m going to, to���� Her voice chokes.


    ��It��s okay, Aunt Addi,�� Eli says. ��I��ll call.��


    ��No texting,�� Addi adds. ��I want to hear your voice.�� Eli nods, so she adds: ��And I��ve got an appointment for you with Doctor Mallory, tomorrow at 3pm. It��s . . . it��s the earliest I could get. I��m sorry. Do you need me to come home and take you?��


    ��No, it��s okay. I��ll be fine, Aunt Addi. I promise.��


    Addi stares at him a moment longer, searching for some sign of . . . something. Eli isn��t sure. He doesn��t even know if she��s found it or not when, a moment later, she pulls him tight against her. ��Oh, sweetheart,�� she says. ��I��m sorry. This wasn��t supposed to happen. Not here. Not in Rosemont.��


    ��It��s okay,�� Eli says, because he isn��t sure how else to respond. ��I��ll be okay.��


    Eli thinks about whether that��s a lie or not as he listens to Aunt Addi leave for work. His fingers dance idly across his Launchpad, beats and samples of something not-yet-formed falling against each other in a jagged, unharmonious throb.


    Mo ��Sir Percival�� Dhillon is dead. Eli didn��t even know the guy��s full name until he heard it yesterday at the station, yet the guy died because of Eli. Maybe not directly, but . . .


    ��I could��ve saved him,�� Eli tells his laptop. If he hadn��t been so afraid of transforming in front of Arthur.


    But he had been, and now Val is dead, a jagged hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Thinking about it��about the thick, rubbery cords of vein and artery handing from the peryton��s jaw��makes Eli retch. So he doesn��t. Instead, he boxes the whole incident up and shoves it to the back of his mind, in the section marked DO NOT OPEN. That section��s a lot more crowded that it was a year ago.


    Eli messes around doing not very much for a good hour after Addi leaves. He��s set his phone to alert him at the appropriate check-in intervals, and when it buzzes he dutifully calls his aunt and has a brief, somewhat awkward conversation.


    ��We should have a codeword,�� Eli suggests.


    ��Any word that starts with the same letter as the hour you��re calling,�� Aunt Addi immediately replies. ��So if it��s ten o��clock, say tombone or telephone. If it��s eleven, it��d be elephant or egg. Like that. Any other word, and I��ll know you��re not okay.��


    ��Egregious echidnas, Aunt Addi,�� Eli says in reply, because it��s currently 8:06.


    Aunt Addi laughs, and the code is set.


    At 8:14, Eli leaves the house and heads to school.


    He��s in the halls by 8:30, melding into the crowd as people stream out of Homeroom and head to their lockers. If anyone notices he��s not supposed to be in today, they don��t mention it, even if he does get more furtive glances that usual. News travels fast in a small town, he supposes. Especially murder news.


    He lurks around the corner from Morgan Lacroix��s locker for a good five minutes like a huge creeper, trying to stay inconspicuous between a concrete pillar and a drinking fountain that��s never worked since Eli arrived. When Morgan herself appears, she��s dressed in all black, right down to the little lace gloves and veil-draped hat. She looks kind of ridiculous��like a network TV stereotype of a goth kid��but comes over when Eli catches her eye.


    ��Elias,�� she says, instantly moving in for a hug. ��I��m so, so sorry.��


    Eli pats her on the back, awkwardly, before glancing around. Morgan��s crew��today just as down with the black and the lace as she is��is loitering but giving their boss space. Which is why Eli says, ��Arthur tell you what happened?�� He keeps his voice low, obviously conspiratorial.


    Morgan nods, doing something with her lip that��s not quite bite enough to disturb her impeccable lipstick. ��Val was . . . he was sw-sweet,�� she says. ��He di-didn��t deserve . . .�� And then she really is crying, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that comes away smudged with charcoal and beige.


    This time, Eli hugs her for real. She��s thin and tiny in his hands, fine-boned like a bird. She tucks her head against his chest as her shoulders shake in true, raw grief.


    Aw, hell, Eli thinks, rubbing one hand up and down the bony nodules of Morgan��s spine. He tries to remind himself this is Morgan Lacroix, who tried to drown his best friend and whose mother wants to hunt him for his scales. He��s supposed to hate her.


    He��s supposed to, but it��s hard. When she��s crying into his shoulder, obviously grieving.


    It doesn��t last that long, maybe a minute. Then Morgan is stepping back, dabbing at her eyes and sniffing. ��Thanks,�� she says. ��Thanks, I just . . .��


    ����S okay,�� Eli says. ��I know it sucks.��


    Morgan��s eyes flick to his, then away again. ��Yeah,�� she says. ��I guess . . . yeah.�� She takes a big, shuddering breath, in and out, and Eli can see her trying to pull herself back together. She rummages in her bag for a moment, emerging with a compact, and immediately sets about fixing up her makeup.


    Reapplying her armor, the little voice inside Eli adds.


    ��Did . . . I didn��t expect you to be at school today,�� she says.


    ��I��m not,�� says Eli, because it��s as good an opening as any. ��I . . . um. Look, I kind of . . . need a favor? Maybe?�� Then, because Morgan starts to look guarded: ��It��s about the peryton.��


    Morgan��s eyes and mouth form into sweet little Os, and she nods, just once.


    ��I need to find out who the other victims were,�� Eli says, because he��s been thinking about this since last night.


    ��You think it��ll help you figure out who��s controlling them?��


    Eli nods. ��They��ve come after me three times now. That can��t be a coincidence.��


    Morgan��s mouth thins, as if she��s turning something difficult over in her mind. That something turns out to be, ��They��ve come after me, too.��


    Belatedly, Eli realizes this is supposed to be news to him. ��Morgan!�� he exclaims. ��Are you . . . how did you escape?�� Oh, man. He hopes he��s not laying it on too thick. Acting. How does that even work?


    ��I . . . I ran into the forest,�� Morgan says, eyes not quite settling on Eli as she does. ��I heard noises behind me but . . . by the time I stopped running, I was alone.��


    Eli pops his eyes wide and tries to look like he believes the lie. ��Geeze, girl,�� he says. ��That��s intense.��


    ��I haven��t told anyone,�� Morgan confesses, voice little more than a whisper.


    ��Not even your mom?��


    A tiny shake of Morgan��s head, barely a twitch side to side. ��Not Arthur, either.��


    ��Why not?�� Eli presses, maybe just to see how Morgan replies.


    She replies by taking a half-step backwards, tossing long blonde hair over one shoulder. ��What does it matter?�� she says. ��All Mom would do is freak out and ban me from ever leaving the house. Arthur is even worse. Besides,�� she sniffs, imperious. ��We already know who��s doing this.�� She stares at Eli, eyes pale and intense. Zoe, he realizes. Morgan is talking about Zoe.


    ��Morgan,�� he says, slowly. ��I really don��t think Zoe����


    ��Ugh! I don��t believe you, Drake!�� Morgan throws her hands up. Like, literally makes the gesture. ��She bewitched you! We found evidence.��


    Eli remembers the tuft of hair and his hand goes to touch at the base of his neck before he can think to stop it. Morgan notices, eyes glittering diamond sharp.


    ��I know you don��t want to think it��s true, but����


    ��How did you know to search Zoe��s locker?��


    Morgan blinks, momentarily derailed. ��What?��


    ��Zoe��s locker. The other day, when you destroyed her grimoire . . . why?��If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ��I . . .�� Morgan��s eyes flick sideways, then back. ��There was . . . a tip-off,�� she says, slowly.


    ��What?��


    ��A note. I found it in my locker that morning. It said . . . someone had seen Zoe casting spells.��


    ��Who?��


    ��I don��t know. The note was anonymous.��


    Eli gets that prickling feeling beneath his scales again. Something��s not right here, not right at all.


    ��Do you still have it?�� he asks. ��The note?��


    Morgan shakes her head. ��I burnt it.�� A pause, during which Eli is trying to scan the ceiling for security cameras and wondering how difficult it would be to get access to the footage. Except then Morgan is saying.


    ��I remember the handwriting, though. Of the note? Because it was kinda weird.��


    ��Weird how?�� Except Eli knows. He just knows what Morgan is going to say before she says it.


    ��It was the punctuation, y��know? Like, little circles for full-stops and kinda . . . backwards commas? Weird. Not something I��m going to forget.��


    <hr>


    Someone is messing with him. Someone at the school.


    Eli is as certain of that as he��s certain that person isn��t Zoe. Because no way would Zoe tip off Morgan to search her own locker, and no way would Zoe use some evil mind-warping r��s��k mojo on herself, either. But someone at the school is.


    Honestly, a week ago, Eli��s money would��ve been on Morgan. She��s had a hate-on for Zoe since grade school, at least the way Zoe tells it, and Eli doesn��t trust a girl like that not to be doing evil magic on the sly while preaching loud about its dangers. People are hypocrites, he knows, particularly when it comes to condemning in others what they��re all over doing themselves.


    So he would��ve picked Morgan, if not for the incident the other night. She really had been chased by two peryton and really had seemed legit scared by it all. She also hadn��t given up Eli��s secret��or, rather ����l��i��n��s�� secret��or even vaguely hinted about it. So . . . he still doesn��t like Morgan, and certainly doesn��t trust her, but he��s pretty sure she��s not doing anything more evil than regular high school bullying.


    Ditto for Arthur. Surely he wouldn��t have let his friend die if he��d really summoned the peryton. Plus, again, he��d seemed legit freaked out when they��d been hunkered down in the cave.


    The whole thing is making Eli��s head hurt. He needs more evidence, which Morgan has promised to try and dig up from Lacroix, assuming Lacroix takes her work home with her.


    Eli, meanwhile, has to first call Aunt Addi (��negative Nancies��), then try and find some way to sneak into the girls�� locker rooms. Because this period? Zoe has Gym. Which means her bag will be in the locker room, unattended. And if Eli can get to it, he can try and find the r��s��k and destroy it.


    He��ll apologize to Zoe afterwards.


    Eli��s pretty sure that Zoe��s class is doing track for their current unit. Zoe hates track. Zoe hates Gym in general, but track in particular, right behind gymnastics which she��d once confessed to being her version of the Special Hell.


    ��Like, I think, if I end up murdering someone or whatever and go to hell? It��s just going to be gymnastics class for all eternity.��


    ��You��d get good at it, though, wouldn��t you?�� Eli had said, after some thought. ��Like, after the first century or so you��d be springing backflips no probs.��


    That conversation had been months ago, now, not long after Eli had arrived in Rosemont. People had still be tip-toeing around him, then, trying not to mention the D-E-A-T-H word like somehow not saying it would make his parents somehow still alive. Only Zoe hadn��t seemed to care; had just blithely barreled through morbid conversations as if it didn��t even occur to her why Eli was supposed to find them uncomfortable. It��s one of the reasons they��d become friends in the first place.


    One of the reasons. Eli tries not to think of that lock of hair, or of the look on Zoe��s face when Morgan had found it. He��ll destroy the r��s��k and then he and Zoe can sit down and talk properly. He��ll figure out what to do next after that.


    The girls�� locker rooms are behind the gym hall itself, mirrored from the boys��. Eli hasn��t even been around this side in passing, and it feels weird just to stand outside the short corridor leading to the door; like a dark, yawning forbidden cave.


    He tells himself to stop being stupid��if nothing else, he��s a dragon, so caves should be his natural habitat, right?��and slips into the space. There��s no one in the gym so he��s pretty sure he hasn��t been seen, unless someone reviews the security camera footage, which they��re not going to, because no way is Eli doing anything wrong.


    He��s just . . . sneaking into the girls�� locker room to rummage around in his best friend��s schoolbag without her knowledge. It��s fine. No problem.


    The door to the locker room is painted an ugly, industrial sort of pink, a peeling white vinyl decal of that abstracted, 1950s-housewife shape doubling down on the message that this is Not Eli��s Place.


    ��Yeah, well. Fuck the gender binary,�� he mutters, to no one in particular, then pushes the door open.


    The first thing that hits him is the absolute reeking wall of stank. It��s so powerful and unexpected that Eli staggers back and step. He��s used to stank in the locker room, of course; the boys�� room smells like boy and Axe and that��s all kind of a given. Somehow, he hadn��t expected the girls�� locker room to smell the same. Or, mostly the same. The usual reek of sweat and fear is there, but instead of the overlay of musk-and-manliness, Eli��s getting assaulted by some lab-brewed approximation of strawberry and vanilla and a whole bouquet of flowers he doesn��t know the names of. The pungency of it makes his eyes water. He doesn��t know if it��s a dragon thing��he hasn��t particularly noticed his senses have improved, but who knows��or just an Eli-thing, but the reeky smell is not nearly as appealing as perhaps gossip in the boys�� lockers had lead Eli to believe.


    This is not a place, Eli suddenly realizes, of sexy half-naked jostling, furtively witnessed though a peephole. This is a place were girls go to shrug off the humiliation and shame of an hour spend being reminded of every way they��ll never be good enough, thin enough, or beautiful enough. It��s a place of cruel giggles and averted eyes, of self-loathing with no outlet but the next girl over. It is, in other words, a place not entirely different from the boys�� locker room. Just with a different paint-job.


    Eli steels himself against the bitter reek of soured vanilla and plunges headlong into the room. His whole body protests; something about the smell and the taboo of even being here swirling together in that uncomfortable, scale-itching way.


    The locker room itself is essentially identical to the one Eli��s used to, and just as misnamed; there aren��t actually any lockers here, just long benches covered in backpacks and satchels, plus a row of toilet stalls and a barely used shower. About the only real difference Eli can see is the lack of a urinal. Otherwise, he may as well have just stumbled into a mirror-verse version of the boys�� room.


    Zoe��s bag is easy enough to identify. It��s sitting by itself in the furthest corner of the room, covered in buttons and pins depicting pride flag-recolored Pok��mon and anime characters and superhero logos.


    It also . . . oozes. Something dark and rotten. Not literally, but somehow, in his mind, Eli knows. Like he can sense the presence of the r��s��k, and it makes his lip curl and his teeth try and shift into fangs. The feeling is so overpowering Eli is surprised when he touches the bag and feels canvas, not greasy, rotting meat. It��s like what he��s seeing with his eyes and what his brain thinks he should be seeing don��t match up. By the former, his perfectly ordinary hands are undoing the buckles on a perfectly ordinary canvas satchel. By the latter, his iridescent talons are sinking into the filthy hide of something corrupted and cruel.


    Zoe��s bag is mostly full of books. Plus a pencil case, another pencil case Eli knows Zoe uses for make-up, and a third she uses for her witch��s tools. Eli opens each in turn; the first is full of pencils, most special-ordered from Japan. The second is lip crayons and concealer sticks and other, more esoteric, things. Neither are the source of the r��s��k��s corruption.


    The third bag has Zoe��s magic stuff; sachets of teas and odd assortments of stones and nuts and string. Even a few animal bones. There are half-woven protection charms and half-carved runestones, and Eli��s skin tingles when he touches them. It��s magic, but it��s not malicious. It��s just Zoe, the same feeling Eli got when activating the charm during his encounter with the first peryton. It��s a good feeling; shivery and exciting, but safe too, in the way of a scary film or a rollercoaster. Zoe��s magic won��t hurt him, and in that moment Eli knows��from his wings to his tail, he just knows��that, whatever the reason behind the chunk of his hair in Zoe��s grimoire, it wasn��t because she was trying to bewitch him.


    Eli zips the magic case back up, and starts looking through the satchel��s other pockets. The left has Zoe��s keys and wallet. The right is her phone and a big jumble of white headphone-and-charger cable-spaghetti. The front pocket has random things Zoe uses for cosplay; necklaces and spare troll horns. None of it is the source of the oozing awfulness he can still feel emanating from the bag.


    He huffs in frustration, is just about to upend the whole thing and start again, when he remembers the inside back zip pocket.


    It��s sort of concealed; inside the bag itself, zipper obscured by a flap of canvas. Eli opens it, and the pungent wave of rotting filth that escapes is enough to make him stagger backwards, gasping in alarm. It��s not a smell, exactly��Eli doubts any human would be able to detect it��but his mind struggles to process it any other way.


    ��Found you,�� he mutters, and knows he��s right.


    Forcing himself to reach into the pocket is an effort. He no more wants to put his hand in there than he wants to kiss a peryton or cuddle up to a week-old corpse. He forces himself to do it anyway, face screwed up into an expression of disgust, gooseflesh crawling across skin that desperately wants to put a layer of scale between itself and the corrupt miasma.


    Zoe keeps nothing in her satchel��s secret pocket. It��s as tall and wide as her bag, but barely deep enough to hold an iPad. Eli��s fingers touch bottom without encountering any obstructions, and he waves his hand around inside the space, searching.


    ��C��mon, where are you?��


    The r��s��k itself is so small and innocuous Eli nearly misses it. May have done so, in fact, if not for the painful jolt it gives when his pinkie brushes against it. It��s the same sort of feeling he gets from Zoe��s magic, except opposite. Zoe��s magic is clean and fresh and exciting. The r��s��k is greasy and stale and fills Eli with a sort of apathetic dread. It��s evil, he can feel that in his very soul. The same soul that knows this piece of magical filth needs to be destroyed, by any means necessary.


    Eli pulls the object out of Zoe��s bag. It��s lodged right down in the corner��maybe by gravity but Eli��s betting by design��and is no bigger than a guitar pick. It��s a feather��no prizes for guessing from what��but small and fluffy rather than the long pinion Eli had given Zoe for her locator spell.


    This feather has a braided thread wrapped around the pointed end. Eli��s pretty sure the thread is made of hair. Blue hair. Zoe��s blue hair. The whole object is so tiny and so innocuous and would almost look sort of cute, in a boho hipster sort of way, if not for the fact it oozes so much corruption that the scales unfold on Eli��s palm.


    He can��t touch this filth with his skin any more than he could plunge his hand into a barrel of toxic waste.


    Eli��s lip is curled into a disgusted sneer and he��s patting at his pockets with his free hand when he hears the door behind him open and a voice say:


    ��What the hell do you think you��re doing?��

 “Oh, Elias. This is exactly who I am.”

    ��What the hell do you think you��re doing?��


    Eli doesn��t flinch at the voice, doesn��t drop the bag, doesn��t try to hide. Instead, he very calmly turns around. His heart is absolutely racing and a cold sweat has burst out along his brow and shoulders, but he tries not to let either show. Instead, he turns and says:


    ��What I have to.��


    Zoe is standing in the doorway to the locker room. She��s wearing gym shorts and a Evangelion t-shirt so old it��s gone from black to grey. She��s sweaty and breathing heavily, her hair pulled into a messy braid over her shoulder. She looks pissed, but exhausted, too. Worn and faded like her t-shirt.


    ��Have to what?�� she sneers, vicious and angry. ��Go through my bag?��


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli. ��I��m sorry, Zee, but����


    ��Did Morgan put you up to this?�� Zoe walks into the room proper. Her strides are heavy and purposeful, and Eli can feel the sick tendrils of magic as they ooze from the r��s��k and try and lure Zoe forward. ��Where is she?�� Zoe is saying. ��Where��s that skanky little bitch hiding?�� Her eyes roll in their sockets, white-ringed and feral.


    ��Zoe,�� Eli says, trying to keep his voice calm, professional. Like the voice Dad used to use on the phone with panicked clients. ��Zoe, listen to me. You��re under a spell. Someone��s ensorcelled you.��


    ��I saw you!�� Zoe snaps, not listening. ��With her. Conspiring. Laughing at me.��


    Eli has the r��s��k in one hand, a lighter in the other. The lighter��s in his pocket and he pulls it out, shows it and the r��s��k to Zoe.


    ��I found this in your bag,�� he says. ��I don��t know who put it there but it��s bad magic, man. It��s making you paranoid.��


    ��You went through my bag. My bag!�� It��s not a question, more like something she��s repeating to herself as a reminder. But Zoe��s eyes are glassy and unfocused, and Eli gets the impression she isn��t quite all at home behind them.


    ��Zee, listen. I��m going to burn this thing. It��s bad magic. I��m going to����


    Except Zoe screams, and lunges the last few feet towards Eli. The idea that Zoe, even a possessed Zoe, would physically attack him is so far out of Eli��s expectation that when the fist connects with his jaw, he just drops.


    It��s an awkward punch, but it��s got weight behind it, and fury, and the next thing Eli knows the world is sideways. He hears the clatter as the dropped lighter goes skidding away, has no idea where he dropped the r��s��k, and is just blinking and trying to sit upright when hot, heavy hands grab him and shake him so hard the back of his skull cracks against the bench.


    ��I knew it!�� Zoe is saying, voice vicious and hurt even as she tries to shake Eli��s brain out his nose. ��I knew you weren��t really my friend! Knew you were just trying to spy on me for that anorexic slut Morgan Lacroix! To humiliate me! You nearly had me, but he warned me, he did. I didn��t want to believe him but����


    ��Zoe!�� Somehow, Eli manages to pull enough brain cells together to bring his hands up. He threads them up between Zoe��s arms then pushes them apart, forcing her grip away from his shoulders. God, he doesn��t want to hurt her. But he has to destroy the r��s��k and��


    And, this time, Zoe punches him like she means it.


    Her fist catches him on the cheek, just below the eye socket. It hurts, and Eli feels the scales erupt across his skin in retaliation. Not a full transformation, but enough to freeze Zoe in place, hand raised for a second blow.


    She blinks, once, and for one moment, her eyes lose their drugged sheen. ��Eli? What��?��


    Eli doesn��t waste time explaining. Instead, he lurches up, grabbing Zoe with hands more like claws, and rolls them both over. Zoe is . . . heavy (fat, Eli��s inner Zoe-voice supplies), but Eli is strong now and they end up sprawled awkwardly on the tiles, Zoe on her back and blinking up at the ceiling.


    Eli takes advantage of her distraction, scrambling forward to reach under the bench to grab the fallen lighter.


    His hand has scales. Iridescent black, like the scales of his dragon-shape, and his nails have turned into claws of rainbow bismuth. He��s not fully shifted��is still in a decidedly human body��but he��s manifesting draconic traits and��


    ��Crap.��


    He has horns. Not as big as in his full shift, but big enough to peek out beneath his curls. Not to mention, when he runs his hand down it, he can feel a smattering of scales framing his face.


    Behind him, Zoe struggles to her feet. The he risks a glance, she��s watching him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.


    ��Zoe?�� he says, into the stillness. ��Zoe, you have to listen to me, please. There��s����This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Except the glassy look is creeping back into Zoe��s expression, the coils of corrupted magic once again oozing their tendrils into her soul.


    ��Oh, Ee-ee-eli-ii,�� she sing-songs. ��You��ve been keeping se-ee-ecrets. From your bestie Zoe-boe.��


    ��Zoe.�� Eli scrambles to his feet. Zoe is advancing on him, almost sashaying, arms outstretched and hands curling into claws.


    ��What are you?�� Zoe asks.


    ��Zee, please. We don��t have time for this. I promise I��ll explain everything, okay, I just����


    But Zoe isn��t listening. ��You��re like them,�� she says instead. ��Like the witch-birds.�� By which Eli assumes she means the peryton.


    ��Hey, no����


    Except Zoe��s face splits into a terrible, almost dreamy grin. ��You��re a monster,�� she breathes. Then giggles. It��s a sick, dark sound and some part of Eli is surprised when she doesn��t start choking up black bile to go along with it.


    ��Zoe,�� he tries again. ��C��mon. Stop this.��


    ��Oh, Ee,�� she says. ��This is so much better than what we had planned. Humans are such a pain to control, you know that, right? But monsters? Monsters are easy.�� Her hand darts out, gripping the lower half of Eli��s face, black-lacquered nails gouging sharp little semicircles into his face.


    ��I don��t want to hurt you,�� Eli says, voice slightly muffled by Zoe��s hand. He��s not afraid, exactly. But he is telling the truth; he doesn��t want to hurt Zoe, and he doesn��t want Zoe to do anything that will hurt herself.


    Except, at his words, all she does is grin. ��Oh,�� she says. ��There��s no risk of that. Ik��thit!��


    The last is barked sharply and strongly and, while Zoe��s accent is kind of off, is still so obviously a word in Xyl��tha that Eli freezes. Or, rather, his mind freezes. His body, meanwhile, shudders in revulsion as he feels a wave of corrupted magic roil over him, forcing him out of Zoe��s grip and to his knees.


    Zoe shrieks with laughter. The sound is desperate, unhinged. ��This is the way it should be,�� she says. ��Don��t you see? It��s the natural order of things. The Beast, kneeling before his Witch.��


    ��Zoe, c��mon girl,�� Eli says. ��This isn��t you.�� He struggles to his feet. His body feels sluggish and uncooperative, the magic still coiling around his limbs, trying to force him into obedience. But Eli knows something Zoe doesn��t; that he��s one of the xyl��takka, not a lowly monstrous as��k like Zoe assumes.


    ��Oh, Elias,�� Zoe says, watching him rise with a vicious little smirk. ��This is exactly who I am. Ik��thit!��


    This time, Eli��s ready for the magic. It hits him like a wave of oily filth and he imagines himself burning with iridescent fire in response. His knees buckle, but he stays upright, and Zoe��s eyes widen in shock for one moment before her face curls into an ugly sneer.


    ��Don��t think you can defy me, Beast,�� she says. ��Ik��ko!�� She makes a gesture as she says it; hands together at the heels, fingers splayed, arms pushing forward. She looks like a Dragonball character throwing a Kamehameha, and Eli has one moment to give her a quizzical look before a ball of green-black fire hits him in the chest and sends him flying across the locker room.


    He slams into one of the far benches, back cracking painfully against the edge before gravity takes over and he ends up in a tangle of bags and spilled books and sweaty-sweet girls�� clothes.


    The awful, corrupted fire still licks along his skin but it doesn��t hurt, exactly. It��s more a sort of tingling itch, like Eli remembers from the one time he accidentally spilled bleach on his hand as a kid. When the fire touches one of his manifested scales, it pops and flares and splutters out.


    ��I said, ik��ko!��


    This time, Eli gets out of the way. He feels the wave of magic brush against his back as he does, like a blast of hot, sewer-stinking air. It hits the wall of the locker room but without Eli in the way all it manages is to lightly ruffle some textbook pages.


    ��You can��t burn me, Zee,�� Eli says, as he darts around the room, always slightly ahead of Zoe��s magic. He��s pretty sure it��s true. He��s a freakin�� dragon, after all. They��re pretty immune to fire, right?


    Zoe gives a little shriek of frustration. Eli is circling closer to her, still moving but trying to get within grabbing distance. If he can just get close enough to take her down, then��


    The next blast takes him by surprise. He dodges away from where he thinks Zoe��s aiming, but she��s ready for him to do it. She��s switched tactics, he thinks, from trying to hit him to trying to hit where she thinks he��ll be. It��s Space Invaders 101 stuff but it works, and he goes flying again.


    He��s still sort of banged up from the first blast��he��s going to have a pretty intense bruise across his lower back come tomorrow��and this time he cracks his head against the tiles as he goes down. The world goes sort of blurry and fuzzy for a moment, and by the time he��s blinked that away, Eli realizes he��s under one of the benches. Overhead, he can see the shadow of what he��s pretty sure is Zoe��s bag.


    Footsteps approach.


    Eli tries to scramble upright, forgets he��s under the bench, and ends up cracking his head again. He loses time. Not much, just enough that he��s back on the floor again, cheek pressed against the tiles.


    A hot, too-strong hand clamps around his ankle.


    ��You��ve been a very naughty boy,�� Zoe sing-songs. ��You know what happens to naughty boys?�� She pulls on his leg, and Eli is dragged a few inches back before he manages to get his claws into a line of grout between the tiles. It stops the motion, but probably not for long. He has maybe half a second to come up with a plan and his head is throbbing and the world is spinning and the corrupted miasma of the r��s��k is so think he��s nearly choking with it and��


    The r��s��k!


    Eli blinks, then blinks again, but . . . yes! The r��s��k. It��s there, under the bench, against the wall. Despite all odds Eli still has the lighter gripped in one hand and the other darts out to grab the tiny peryton feather. As it does, Zoe gives another sharp tug on his leg. Enough for Eli to be dragged out from under the bench entirely. It doesn��t matter, though. Not now.


    Eli flips onto his back. Zoe is looming over him; a huge, dark shape, oozing wicked malevolence. A fairytale evil witch, face contorted into an ugly sneer.


    Eli grins at her, holds up the lighter in one hand and the r��s��k in the other.


    ��Hey, Zoe?�� he says. ��It��ll all be fine. I promise.��


    Zoe��s expression crumples into confusion. Then Eli strikes the lighter��it bursts to life easily on the first try��and thrusts the r��s��k into the flame.

 “There’s something I need to show you.”

    The Rosemont High gymnasium pulls double-duty as an auditorium, meaning one end is dominated by a long stage. There are rooms behind it, hidden and disused except during plays and assemblies, and Eli and Zoe hide out in one now.


    ��I hate crying.��


    Zoe is sitting in the corner, hunched over her own bag. Her tears have mostly stopped, but she��s still sniffling. She��s still in her gym clothes, too, unkempt and unarmored.


    ��How do you feel?�� Eli asks. He wants to sit next to Zoe, to wrap his arm around her and pull her close, but isn��t sure if she��ll allow it. So he leans against the far wall, instead, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie.


    ��Headache,�� Zoe says eventually. ��And . . . my mouth tastes gross.�� She smacks her lips a few times to demonstrate. ��Like I��ve been licking garbage.��


    Eli doesn��t bother to ask how she knows what garbage tastes like. He can taste it too. Not strong, but: ��It��s the r��s��k, I think.��


    Zoe looks up at him, narrowing eyes red-rimmed from crying. ��The what-awk?��


    Eli bites his lip. ��Um,�� he says. ��How . . . how much do you remember? About . . .?�� He waves a hand, noncommittal.


    ��I . . . I warded my bag,�� Zoe says, looking down at the object in question. ��After Morgan. I . . . I didn��t want . . .�� She stops, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and starts again: ��We were outside. Running, y��know? When I felt, like . . . It was the ward. I can��t explain how I knew, but I knew. You know?��


    Eli nods. He does know.


    Zoe continues: ��So I faked an asthma attack, and came back inside. That��s when . . . when I saw you.�� She pauses. ��I was so mad. It was . . . my vision went black. Like, literally black. I didn��t know that really happened. But it did. And, after . . .�� She sniffs, two heavy teardrops falling on top of her bag. ��There are, like. Gaps. In my memory,�� she finally admits.


    ��The other day,�� Eli says, ��in the hall. You remember?��


    ��Not . . . not really.��


    ��More gaps?��


    ��Yeah.��


    Eli nods, even though Zoe isn��t watching him. ��When you attacked me, I knew it wasn��t you. Not really. I could feel . . . something evil. A curse.��


    ��Someone cursed me.�� It��s not a question, and Eli can feel the anger hiding somewhere behind it. Not close yet, but getting there.


    ��Yeah. I . . . did some research. The thing that came up is called a r��s��k. It��s like . . . an evil charm, I guess? You put it on someone and it works its evil juju on them. I knew it was in your bag����


    ��How?��


    ��I dunno,�� Eli says. ��I just knew, y��know?�� Zoe��s glance flicks up and Eli gives her a weak smile. She doesn��t return it, not quite, but she looks like she��s thinking about it.


    ��Yeah. I know. You found it, then?��


    ��Yeah. Burnt it. Dunno if you remember.��


    ��A little, maybe? Things are . . . it was like I was asleep. You know how in dreams sometimes you just, I dunno. Yell and scream and hit people? Just because it��s a dream and you can and it doesn��t matter and���� A thought seems to occur, and she gasps sharply. ��I hit you!�� Her face is a picture of devastation that crumples into something even worse a moment later. ��I threw a fireball at you! Eli��!��


    ��I��m fine! I��m fine, Zee. See?�� He holds out his arms for inspection. The scales and claws have long since faded, vanishing along with the r��s��k��s bitter magic.


    ��Eli����


    ��It wasn��t you,�� he adds, quickly. ��I could tell it wasn��t. The magic����


    ��It was me, though,�� Zoe says, voice small and fragile. ��I mean, the curse might��ve . . . I dunno. Made it worse. But it was still me.��


    ��Not in any way that would hold up in court.�� Assuming he could convince a court to believe in magic, that is.


    ��You really believe that?��


    Eli grins, pointing to himself with both thumbs. ��Lawyer��s son, right here.�� He sobers quickly. ��Everyone has the potential to do horrible things. Like, we think bad things about people we know aren��t true. Or dream about, I dunno. Murdering our enemies or whatever. But it��s not that we sometimes have those thoughts, it��s that we recognize them for what they are, and don��t let them take hold of us. Like, brush them aside and let our better selves take over. I think maybe what the curse did, was just, like, stop your better thoughts? But that doesn��t mean you��re a bad person, Zee. It just means you��re human.��If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Zoe gives him a weak smile. ��Something you heard in therapy?��


    ��Better believe it. Except the part about the curse. Pretty sure Doctor Rice doesn��t believe in magic.��


    ��What did it look like? The . . . ri-whatsit? I mean, to work it would��ve had to��ve had a part from a magical creature, so . . .?��


    Eli winces. ��Peryton feather.��


    Zoe nods. ��That means whoever is summoning those things goes to this school.��


    ��That��s what I was thinking.��


    ��Any ideas?��


    Eli shakes his head. ��I asked Morgan to see if she can get her mom��s case notes.�� Which earns him an eyebrow hike.


    ��Why not get them from your aunt?��


    Eli scoffs. ��Are you kidding me? I��m not getting Addi in trouble!��


    Zoe blinks at him, silent, for one awful moment. Then another. Then her lips quirk up into an honest-god grin, and she giggles.


    Once she starts, she doesn��t seem to be able to stop. And Zoe��s giggles set off Eli��s, until both of them are cackling in the tiny backstage room, voices echoing off the painted brick. It��s not that the joke was even funny. It��s just . . . just everything. The Lacroixs and the peryton and the r��s��k and��


    ��Do you think she��ll do it?�� Zoe eventually asks, when she can get the words out. ��Morgan, I mean.��


    ��I think she��ll try.�� Eli thinks for a moment, then decides, what the hell, and adds: ��She��s got a crush on me.��


    But Zoe just rolls her eyes. ��Duh, Ee. Everyone knows that.��


    ��I didn��t know that!��


    ��Why do you think Arthur hates you so much?��


    ��I don��t know! Who even knows why guys like him do what they do?�� Which starts Zoe giggling again, which sets Eli off as well.


    Everything will be okay, Eli thinks as he watches Zoe��s shoulders shake. It��s still a bit more hysteria then humor, but that��s okay. Whatever got broken between them��by Morgan, by the r��s��k��it isn��t gone forever. They can fix it.


    And then Zoe says:


    ��Eli? I need to ask . . . Before, the wards on my bag. They . . . they shouldn��t��ve worked. Not really. They didn��t have a focus. Same with . . . with the fireball. But they work around you. Magic always works around you. And . . . and when we were fighting, before. I thought I saw . . .�� She stops, swallows. Looks away then looks back again, eyes clearer. ��What did I see?��


    Eli opens his mouth, then closes it. Makes a decision, and thinks, Widow Adeline is going to kill me.


    Out loud, he says:


    ��Can you skip the rest of the day? There��s something I need to show you.��


    <hr>


    Zoe gets changed in the backstage room while Eli stands guard outside (and calls his aunt, terrible terror). When Zoe emerges, she��s dressed as Scarlet Witch, in a short black dress, long black socks, black bracers and a bright red jacket. Eli doesn��t realize how much he��s missed her fashion sense until he has it back. Trying to guess who Zoe��s going to be on any one day is pretty much the best part of his morning.


    They sneak off school grounds without so much as a querying look from any authority. Eli takes them up into the woods, around behind the school and headed towards the Heights. He tells Zoe about Morgan and the peryton as they walk.


    ��Wait,�� Zoe says. ��You��re telling me you talked to her for like half an hour and she didn��t know it was you.��


    ��Yeah.��


    ��How?��


    ��You��ll see.�� Which earns him a punch in the shoulder, but it��s playful, not angry.


    ��Are you, like, the Batman or something?��


    Eli thinks of broad, webbed wings shimmering like nebulas. ��Kinda,�� he says. ��I told Morgan my name was ��l��i��n.��


    ��That��s pretty,�� Zoe says. Then, after a moment: ��Or, y��know. Manly. Whatever. Where��d you get it from?��


    ��It��s just ��helium�� pronounced funny,�� Eli admits. ��It��s not even . . . anything, really. She just asked and I panicked. I��d had Chem earlier. I dunno. It was what I thought of.��


    ��Secret Agent Heliuman,�� Zoe says. ��Monster hunter at large!��


    ��Something like that.��


    ��What does that even mean, anyway? ��At large?����


    ��I think it means you��re, like, running from the cops.��


    ��Hm.�� Zoe seems to think about this for a moment. ��Well. It kinda makes sense, I guess. Except instead of the cops, you have Lacroix.��


    Lacroix. Right.


    Eli stops. They��re pretty well into the woods by now, sounds from the school swallowed up by the towering oaks and scrubby ground-covers. ��Okay,�� he says. ��This is probably far enough.��


    ��Far enough for what?��


    Eli bites his lip, looks at Zoe. The thing that broke between them is still healing, and he sees the edge of fear in her expression. It��s a measure of trust, he suddenly realizes, that she would follow him alone into the woods like this. The fear is there because she wants to trust him, but isn��t sure that she should.


    Eli takes a step backwards. ��I��m going to show you something,�� he says. ��And . . . it��s really important. You can��t tell anyone. Not your parents, not anyone at school. And especially not Lacroix.��


    ��Eli,�� Zoe says. ��Okay, like. Now you��re freaking me out.��


    ��I know. I��m sorry.�� Eli takes another step backwards. ��Just . . . No Lacroix, okay?��


    Zoe nods, though it takes her a moment. ��Fine,�� she says. ��No Lacroixs.��


    ��Okay,�� Eli says, mostly to himself. ��Okay.�� He jiggles a little in place, glances around again. Then he takes a deep breath, and closes his eye. ��Just . . . try not to scream.��


    And then he calls the dragon.

 “You’re, like. My best friend.”

    Zoe doesn��t scream, although it��s mostly because she has her hands clamped over her mouth. Above them, her eyes are anime-girl wide; almost grotesque and comical. Eli shifts, awkward in the silence that��s dragging on far too long.


    ��So, um,�� he says. ��Ta-daa?�� He sits up on his haunches as he says it, making a sort of car salesman gesture with his arms. Zoe��s eyes, if anything, go even wider, and a muffled squeak emerges from behind her fingers.


    Eli lowers himself back down again. There��s no way he can be smaller than Zoe, short of lying on the ground, but he does his best anyway to make himself non-threatening. ��Um. Zee? Say something, please?��


    ��You can talk!�� Still muffled behind Zoe��s hands and woolen bracer things. But it��s a start.


    ��Um. Yeah?��


    ��You . . . you��re a dragon!��


    ��Apparently?��


    ��Since when?��


    Eli shrugs. It��s more in the wings than the shoulders, and he doesn��t miss the way Zoe��s eyes follow the motion.


    ��A week?�� he hazards, in answer to her question. ��Since the peryton, really.��


    Zoe drops her hands. She��s shifting back and forth, craning to look more at Eli now her shock is being replaced by curiosity. Something inside Eli unclenches in relief. If Zoe had been frightened by him . . .


    ��And you didn��t tell me?��


    ��I��m telling you now!��


    Zoe gives a sharp intake of breath. ��This is why Morgan didn��t recognize you.��


    ��Yeah.��


    ��And why the magic works and�� holy crap, Ee. You��re a dragon. An actual dragon!�� She��s pacing, unashamedly checking out Eli��s big scaly ass. He stands back up so she can get a better look. After a moment, she adds, ��You��re kind of a weird-looking dragon.��


    ��Gee, thanks.��


    ��I mean, no offense? It��s just, you��re kind of . . . lion-y��?��


    ����Leonine,�� Zee.��


    ��Whatever, Captain GPA. It��s just not what I was expecting. Y��know, with the long neck or whatever.�� A thought seems to occur to her. ��Holy crap. Morgan knows you��re a dragon!��


    ��She doesn��t know I��m a dragon,�� Eli corrects. ��She knows there��s a dragon.��


    ��Her mom will kill you!��


    ��Um. Trying not to think about that, man. Besides, I saved Morgan��s life.��


    ��So?��


    ��So. I, like. Told her not to tell Lacroix about me. In, like, return or whatever?��


    ��You think you can trust her?��


    Eli shrugs. ��No? I don��t know. She seemed pretty into it. The whole dragon thing.��


    Zoe snorts. ��That��d be right. It is you after all.�� Then, before Eli can protest: ��So can you do, like, anything cool?��


    ��Other than turn into a giant dragon?��


    ��You aren��t giant. Size class huge at most. Four squares.�� Zoe��s draws a little grid pattern in the air, like the one her parents use in their weird nerd roleplaying whatever. ��Can you breathe fire?��


    ��Um. Not yet?��


    ��Fly?��


    ��Never tried.��


    Zoe makes a noise of disgust. ��Dude. You are the worst at this being a dragon stuff. Tell me you at least have a giant cave of gold or something?��


    Eli��s about to protest��I��ve been a dragon for, like, a week, Zee. Sorry if I��m not the world expert��when her question finally registers. ��Er. Well . . . actually.�� He takes a step back, looking down at her, then up at the rocky rise of the mountain, looming above the woods. It��d be a tough walk for Zoe, but Eli can make it like this no problem.


    He looks back down. Zoe is watching him, brow arched. ��Ee?��


    Yeah, he thinks. This is totally gonna work.


    <hr>


    It is not, as it turns out, as easy to scale the edge of a cliff carrying a rider as Eli had assumed. It mostly involves a lot of screaming��not all of it from Zoe��and the start of a ferocious headache from where Zoe��s been gripping for dear life into the feathers of Eli��s mane.


    Zoe can ride, care of summer camp, but maintains a horse is a very different experience from a dragon, and tells Eli as much, both repeatedly and very close to his ear, given the way she��s gripped around his neck.


    ��Are you sure you know where you��re�� aagh! Where you��re going?�� she asks at one point, heels kicking into Eli��s ribs in a panic as he leaps across a rocky outcropping. He still isn��t flying, but with his wings outstretched he thinks he��s getting the feel for the way the air moves across the membranes.


    ��Not really!�� he yells, with faux cheer. ��I don��t usually come this way!�� He leaps another crevasse, giving a flap of his wings as he does, feeling the strange push of the air as he lifts. Like swimming, almost. But not.


    ��Come this way to what?��


    You��ll see, he doesn��t answer. His eyes are too busy scanning the shadows between the rocks and ferns. They��re above Widow Adeline��s house, the green patchwork of her manicured garden spreading out down below. There��s a kind of presence in the air; the crisp-clean feel of good magic. It��s been growing for a while and Eli��s been following it like a hound with a scent, not quite consciously. But it��s conscious now, and Eli can even pin-point the source; a cleft nestled between the jagged rocks, ferns spilling from the mouth.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ��What is��?�� Zoe starts, at the same time Eli announces, ��Hah!�� and leaps into the hole.


    Zoe screams the whole way down. And for quite a while afterwards.


    She doesn��t so much dismount as land in a pile on the ground, post inelegant sideways slide. Eli is crouching, so she doesn��t have that far to fall, but she still says, ��Warn a girl next time! If I pee on you in fear, it��s your fault!��


    ��Sorry,�� lies Eli, trying not to laugh. Zoe isn��t really scared, he doesn��t think. Or, she is. But, like. Rollercoaster scared. Not active shooter scared. ��I wouldn��t have dropped you,�� he adds, just in case.


    ��I know.�� No hesitation, and Eli might currently be a dragon the size of a small car, but the words still send his heart fluttering like the faevern that are already landing on his scales.


    Zoe takes a big breath, then another. Then she opens he eyes, and sits up. ��So where are weoooly shit, Eli!�� Her eyes go round like moons as she takes in her surroundings. Eli��s landed the right in the main cavern of Widow Adeline��s cave, gold and gems and gleaming fae all around them.


    ��This . . . you have a cave,�� Zoe breathes. Her voice starts hushed in awe but is pitching up to squee faster than likes on a Beyonc�� tweet. ��A dragon cave! A really real life dragon cave!��


    ��Yup.�� Eli sits back on his haunches, allowing the moment of smugness. Just a moment, though. ��Well . . . I mean. I borrow it. Kinda.��


    If Zoe were paying more attention, she might��ve queried that. But she��s not. Instead, she��s crawled over to one of the piles of gold and is running the coins and jewels and gems through her fingers.


    ��This stuff must be worth millions!��


    ��It��s mostly fake, I think,�� Eli says, no longer feeling so smug. ��It just . . . you know. Looks cool.��


    Zoe is holding up a chunk of amethyst as big as her first. ��Is it . . . y��know,�� she starts. ��A dragon thing?�� As soon as she says it, her eyes go wide. She drops the gem, turning to Eli, hands coming up to cover her mouth in horror. ��Ohmigawd,�� she says. ��I��m sorry. Is that, like. A racist thing? Racist against dragons? I��m so sorry.��


    ����Sokay.�� Eli shrugs. Truthfully, he thinks maybe it kinda is A Thing, but he doesn��t want to think about that right now. And he certainly doesn��t want to chew Zoe out about it.


    He moves closer to her, instead. Just a step or two, but it��s enough for Zoe to blurt out:


    ��You��re covered in butterflies!��


    ��Faevern,�� Eli corrects. He angles his body so Zoe can see the ones nestled in his mane. ��They��re kind of . . . I dunno. Like those birds that sit on crocodiles, I guess? But, like. Magic.��


    ��They��re tiny dragons!�� Zoe has coaxed one onto her hand. It mantles its wings and hisses at her, fearless and harmless in equal measure.


    Eli also suspects calling the ��tchan ��dragons�� falls into the same bucket as calling monkeys ��people,�� but decides not to mention it. It��d been his first thought, too, and he supposes he��ll have time later to have any heavy conversations with Zoe, assuming she doesn��t make the mental connection herself. For now, her excitement is infectious, sitting on a pile of gold, laughing and covered in glittering fae.


    ��So hey,�� Eli says, ��you wanna see the rest of the cave?��


    Zoe��s eyes go even wider. ��There��s more?��


    Eli just grins a toothy grin.


    <hr>


    Unsurprisingly, Zoe loves every inch of Widow Adeline��s grotto, and Eli loves that she loves it. He loses track of how long they spend, scrambling over rocks and picking the dubiously glowing fungi and splashing in the unnaturally warm streams. Zoe talks a mile-a-minute, brandishing sketchbook and pen as she makes notes on everything she sees. Starting a new grimoire, Eli assumes, and maybe it doesn��t totally make up for what she��s lost, but at least it��s something.


    Zoe wants to know where the water comes from, so they follow one of streams upriver, further than Eli��s ever been before. He keeps waiting for the tunnel to narrow down too small for him to pass through, but it never does. In fact, it gets wider, eventually opening up into an open-topped crevasse the size of Widow Adeline��s entrance hall, rays of sunlight fragmenting into rainbows over the waterfall crashing down the far end.


    There are plants here like Eli��s never seen before. Five-petaled flowers that gleam and glow like stars. Vines with leaves that look made from iridescent gossamer. Mosses that flicker and change color when touched. Zoe catalogues them all, taking samples to press between the pages of her book, sneaking photographs and making sketches. Eli leaves her to it, instead sits himself down at the edge of the water and watches schools of strange, glittering fish dart around the rocks.


    Eventually, Zoe comes to join him.


    ��This place . . .�� she says, voice overwhelmed in awe. ��I don��t even know . . .��


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli, because he gets it. This place, exactly.


    ��Thank you for showing it to me.��


    Eli traces a claw through the water, watching the fish dart about trying to escape it. ��S��okay,�� he says. ��You��re, like. My best friend.��


    Zoe inhales, sharp enough that the sound seems to bounce off the walls of the cavern. There��s a piece of silence after that, long and heavy and awkward. Eli can hear a sort of wet clicking sound, like Zoe keeps opening her mouth and closing it again, except he isn��t sure because he doesn��t want to look at her. Is too scared, maybe, with things still . . . like they are.


    Eventually, Zoe blurts:


    ��Itwasforluck.��


    Eli blinks. ��What?��


    ��The ribbon,�� Zoe says, still talking too-fast. ��It wasn��t . . . y��know. It was for luck. You . . . you��d just arrived, and you��d been so nice to me, and . . . and I just wanted things to work out for you. So I cast a luck spell. For you. I know that still doesn��t make it okay. To do the spell or to . . . to cut your hair. But it wasn��t�� I wasn��t trying to . . . do that. Just . . . I just wanted things to get better. For you, y��know? After . . . after what happened.��


    Hong Kong, Eli thinks. Zoe��s family came from Hong Kong. She��d told him that, months ago now. Mr. Chung had come to America for school, then stayed for his work, which is where he��d met Ms. Chung. But they still went back to Hong Kong for holidays, and family events, and Eli was pretty sure Zoe spoke Cantonese, at least a little bit. And she��d mentioned it, hadn��t she? Getting lucky red envelopes of money from her family at New Year��s.


    Lucky red.


    Eli decides he believes it. He decides he wants to live in a world where Zoe��s dumb spell was trying to make him happy, not her. That��s the person he thinks Zoe is and that��s the person he thinks Zoe wants to be. So he believes it. And if it wasn��t true? Well. Then it is now.


    ��Yeah,�� he says. ��All right.��


    ��I��m still sorry,�� Zoe says. She��s still speaking too fast and her voice cracks, just a little. When she sniffs, there��s a thick wetness to it, like she��s been crying, or trying not to. ��It��s still . . . I won��t do it again. I swear. I should . . . I should be better than that.��


    ��Okay.��


    Zoe shifts, and the quiet descends once more, broken only by the white noise murmur of the waterfall. ��Still friends?�� she asks, after a while.


    Her voice is so quiet, so hesitant, that it makes Eli turn to face her, eyes wide in surprise. She has been crying, he realizes, now that he��s looking; shiny furrows tracking down her too-red cheeks.


    ��Zee . . .�� he says, feeling something inside his chest clench. ��Zee, yeah. Yeah, of course. Always.�� He bumps sideways, pushing against Zoe��s shoulder, and he��s bigger than they��re both used to and Zoe makes a kind of squawking sound and nearly goes sprawling sideways. ��Er . . .�� says Eli, who��s just as sure he can��t blush like this as he is that he��d be doing it something chronic if he were in his human skin.


    Zoe makes another undignified noise, and the next thing Eli knows she��s cupped a hand in the stream and flung it at his face. The water splashes him but it mostly splashes her, and he can��t help it. He starts laughing. And so does Zoe. It isn��t that funny, really, but they laugh like they can��t stop, eventually ending up slumped against each other in the cavern, impossible flowers glowing all around, and they��re all right, Eli thinks. Whatever else happens, they��ll be all right.

 “The warlock. I think it’s Morgan.”

    Eventually, they make their way back to the main part of the cave. Zoe has pages and pages of notes and half a lunchbox stuffed with glowing mushrooms and impossible flowers, and they��re so busy arguing over whether or not she should take them home (��What if your mom finds them, Zee?��) that neither of them notice Widow Adeline until they��ve all-but run into her.


    ��School��s out for the day, is it?��


    Eli yelps, which comes out as a kind of strange bark, and his immediate instinct is to rear up on his hind legs and spread his wings to try and hide Zoe. As if Widow Adeline hadn��t seen them coming from yards away.


    ��Um!��


    ��I assume I don��t want to know,�� Adeline says. Then, tilting her head to the side as if to peer around Eli��s wing: ��Good afternoon, Miss Chung.��


    Zoe, bravely, steps out from behind Eli. ��Um. Hello, Ms. Desmarais,�� she says which, actually, Eli thinks is the first time he��s ever heard someone call Window Adeline anything other than ��Widow Adeline.��


    ��Desmarais, darling,�� Adeline says. Correcting Zoe��s pronunciation, Eli assumes, although he can��t hear the difference.


    ��Oh, well, I mean. It��s Chung, not ��Chung������that difference, Eli can hear����but, yanno . . .�� Zoe shrugs.


    ��Touch��. I see Elias has let you in on his little secret.��


    Zoe looks between Eli and Adeline, brows arching, and Eli says, ��It��s okay. She knows. She��s been helping me.��


    ��Attempting to teach you the language and history of your ancestors, yes. And you, Miss . . . Chung����better, this time����I hear you��ve also been indulging in some extracurriculars.�� She gestures at Zoe��s lunchbox, brimming with flora.


    ��Uh . . .��


    ��Here.�� Widow Adeline has a small stack of books, and she holds them out for Zoe to take. ��Master Drake attends instruction with me. If you��re going to pursue this little witchcraft game of yours, I��ll expect your presence also.��


    ��I, um���� Eli holds Zoe��s lunchbox and her bag so she can take Adeline��s books. ��I��m not sure����


    ��It��s not optional,�� Widow Adeline says, voice prim and arch. ��Magic is dangerous. Deadly. Now that you��ve grasped the basics, you need to learn to apply that knowledge responsibly.��


    ��These are grimoires,�� Zoe says, flicking through the tomes she��s been handed. There are three of them, ranging from the leather-bound-hand-lettered variety to something that looks like it was printed on the cheap from someone��s CreateSpace account.


    ��Yes. Read the first two chapters of Malikan��s Primer by Saturday morning. I��ll expect you here sharpish, along with Master Drake. Oh, and please do leave the mushrooms here. You��ll find they won��t survive outside the cave.��


    Zoe looks between Adeline and the lunchbox, small and strange in Eli��s claw. �� . . . Really?��


    Adeline makes a mhm sort of noise. ��Incorrect etheric resonances,�� she says. ��You��ll learn about it in chapter six. For now . . .�� She holds out her hand, clearly expecting the lunchbox to be handed over. After a brief nod from Zoe, Eli complies.


    ��You, ah . . . you��re not mad, then?�� he says. ��That, y��know. I told Zoe about the whole���� He gestures to himself.


    ��Absolutely furious,�� Adeline says, voice not so much as quavering. ��It was incredibly foolish. But it��s done, and can��t be undone. And as far as allies go, you could have done far worse than a witch.��


    ��She��s my friend,�� Eli says, feeling oddly unsettled at the accusation that he, what? Only told Zoe because she could be useful to him.


    ��She��s still in the room,�� Zoe reminds them both, although her voice is distracted and her eyes haven��t left the book she��s reading. Not the Primer, Eli notes, which is the kind of crappy looking print-on-demand volume. Zoe, meanwhile, is engrossed in the big, leather-bound tome, lips moving as she struggles to read the indecipherably ornate and looping handwriting.


    ��It��s traditional, at least,�� Adeline says. ��The shyu����ur have always been close followers of the xyl��tkkan.��


    Shyu����yu. Eli rolls the word around in his mind, watching Zoe from the corner of his eye. ����Cause we invented magic?�� he asks, memories of previous lectures surfacing.


    Adeline laughs. ��I suppose it depends on whom one asks. Most tkkan would certain agree, although y����asyu historians have their own versions of the story.��


    ��Y����asyu . . .�� The word is unfamiliar, but the components parts aren��t. ��Y�� is . . . to speak, right?��


    ��Future tense, but yes.��


    ��And asur are... animals?�� Then, at Adeline��s nod: ��So . . . ��animals that will speak.�� Humans?��


    ��Very good.��


    ��That��s not patronizing at all,�� Zoe mutters into her book.


    ��Aah, says homo sapiens, the thinking ape.��


    ����Homo�� means ��man,�� not ��ape.����


    ��The name that was given to humanity by itself. I suppose it must be strange, to have one��s parochial notions of anthropocentrism challenged by an outside intelligence. And one that watched your evolution as it happened, at that.��


    Zoe does look up at that, squinting at Adeline with a kind of disbelieving outrage. ��Are you . . . do you seriously think I��ve never encountered othering language before? Because, spoiler alert, I��ve����


    ��Oh, crap!�� Eli claps his foreclaws together to forestall the argument. It��s not that he thinks Zoe is wrong, exactly, so much as that he doesn��t think getting into a yelling match with Widow Adeline over intersectionality is going to help them. Besides, he��s just remembered:


    ��I was supposed to call Aunt Addi! Oh, oh crap she��s gonna kill me!��


    <hr>


    Aunt Addi does not kill him, but it��s close. The second he shifts back into human form his phone nearly explodes from all the messages (��where does it go?�� Zoe asks, to which Eli has no answer), although they cut off abruptly around eleven thirty. Apparently, that was when Addi had thought to call Widow Adeline.


    ��I told your poor aunt you were weeding my garden,�� she says, smirking in a way Eli knows, just knows, means he has hours of weeding ahead of him. ��Very distracted by your work, and reception is so spotty out here.��


    ��I never have any���� Zoe starts, before she catches on with an, ��Ooooh.��


    When he calls her, Aunt Addi sounds more relieved than angry which, somehow, makes Eli feel even worse. ��I can��t lose you too,�� she says, and it��s the little hitch in her voice that��s nearly fatal. ��I won��t.��


    ��You won��t,�� Eli promises. ��I swear. I��ll be fine.�� The worst part is, he��s pretty sure it��s true. He��s the freakin�� dragon, after all. It��s everyone else, everyone like Val, who��


    Yeah. No. He can��t think about that. Not yet.


    Addi wants Eli safe and so, at Zoe��s urging, he tells her he��ll spend the afternoon at the Chungs��. The suggestion gives him a guilty sense of unease, at first. Things with Zoe are still kind of raw, and he doesn��t know if she told her parents about their . . . fight. Eli likes the Chungs and he doesn��t want them to think badly of him, but Zoe insists it��s fine and, more importantly tempts him with her dad��s cooking. After spending the last few hours in his dragon skin, Eli is ravenous, and it��s enough to overcome his hesitation. So Adeline lets them out the front door of her house and they retire to the Chungs�� to scavenge food, Zoe��s head glued into her books the entire time.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Eli isn��t sure how they��re going to explain skipping school to the Chungs��both of whom work from home��although Zoe assures him it��ll be fine and, as it turns out, it is.


    ��Bad day at school, honey?�� says Mr. Chung, coming to greet them in the kitchen. There��s a sort of tightness to his expression as he says it, not anger exactly but . . . something close. And not directed at Zoe.


    ��Things still kinda suck,�� Zoe says, which isn��t even a lie. ��I just . . . y��know.�� She makes a vague gesture, and Mr. Chung nods.


    He also, as promised, makes them lunch (��About time I took a break, anyway��) of fried rice and reheated pork buns. Eli eats about ten thousand of the latter and a truckload of the former. Mr. Chung just laughs and says something about ��growing boys,�� then disappears back into the house with two much more modest plates, for himself and for Ms. Chung.


    Zoe is still busy reading, so Eli busies himself with his phone for a while, flicking through Facebook to see what his old friends back in New York are up to. It still makes him homesick, although now that feeling is cut by a searing curiosity of what it would be like to soar on his wings through the Manhattan skyline. Even as he��s imagining it, he knows it��ll never happen. Not with people like Yvonne Lacroix and her Lyddans out for his blood.


    Eli is halfway through his fifth pork bun when Zoe abruptly looks up from her book and announces: ��I still think it��s Morgan.��


    ��Huh?�� says Eli, blinking away thoughts of soaring over Central Park.


    ��The sorcerer,�� Zoe clarifies. ��I think it��s Morgan.��


    ��I . . . why?��


    ��Because. Because of . . . y��know. What happened to me. Who else hates me that much?��


    Eli thinks of the girl who��d sat with him in the rain. ��It��s not just about that, though. People��ve . . . y��know. Died.�� I watched while it killed them, he doesn��t add, because he can��t. ��Val. Why would Morgan kill her brother��s best friend?��


    Zoe squints at Eli like he��s just asked why Zoe would think the sky is blue. ��Boys,�� she mutters, as if that��s some kind of explanation.


    ��Anyway,�� Eli continues, ��the peryton came after Morgan. I saved her, remember?��


    ��It could��ve been a set-up?�� Except even Zoe sounds dubious. ��Okay, well . . . do you have any better ideas, Mr. Dragon Sherlock?��


    Eli shakes his head. ��No,�� he says. ��And that��s what��s bothering me.��


    <hr>


    He spends the rest of the afternoon at the Chungs��, doing homework and watching Zoe make herself a new amulet out of wire and a chunk of amethyst. To activate the crystal, Zoe uses a single glowing star-shaped flower she smuggled from Adeline��s grotto. Eli watches as Zoe burns the flower atop a pile of salt in her ritual bowl, every hair on his neck standing on end as the yellow flame turns into pure white light and vanishes into the amethyst when Zoe passes it through, chanting words in Xyl��tha.


    ��There,�� she says when she��s done. ��No more mind control curses!�� She threads a leather cord through the wire and ties the newly formed r��s��a around her neck. The stone seems to glow very faintly, as if lit from behind by a softly pulsing LED, and gives off the fresh, clean texture-smell Eli��s come to associate with shyu����ur magic.


    Just after three, he gets a text from Aunt Addi: Stay safe. Going to bed early.


    Apparently Aunt Addi��s been texting Mr. Chung, too, who invites Eli to stay for dinner (Korean spicy fried chicken). Afterwards, Mr. Chung insists on driving him home.


    ��Just . . . in case,�� he says, despite Eli��s protests that he��ll be fine.


    If anyone in town is going to be fine, it��s Eli. It��s everyone else he has to worry about. Which is why he gives one wave to Mr. Chung at the door, then does one lap of the house to make sure Aunt Addi is asleep (she is). Then he slips out the back, and goes hunting for peryton.


    <hr>


    Hunting is not very eventful. Eli spends more time avoiding well-intentioned adults trying to send him home than he does battling monsters. Murders aren��t much of a thing in Rosemont, and after what happened with Val, it seems every adult is on edge. As Eli jogs through the woods, he thinks about what Zoe said, about Morgan being the sorcerer behind the peryton. He doesn��t think it��s true but he also has no idea who it could be instead. Rosemont High isn��t a big school, but it��s still a few hundred kids of which Eli knows about a dozen and, honestly, Eli wouldn��t even know how to tell if one of them was using evil magic anyway. Would he be able to smell it, the same way he can smell the good magic on Zoe? Maybe he should try and check.


    He��s thinking of potential strategies, in fact, when he hears the shriek. That awful, unearthly scream he can feel in his bones, that echoes in his nightmares. He��s running towards it before he can think, already feeling the claws push through his fingertips and the spines burst out along his back.


    It��s about then he hears the gunshot.


    ��Shit!��


    A gunshot and voices. Men��s voices. The peryton shrieks again, this time in pain, and Eli thinks it��s close. The ground dips away not a hundred yards up ahead, and he can smell the stink of it now, rotting in the valley.


    ����flank it!�� one of the men is saying. ��Don��t let it fly!��


    Is that Fargo��s voice? Crap. Eli thinks it might be Fargo.


    More gunshots, and the sounds make something in Eli recoil in a way the peryton, for all its unnatural horror, never could. Still, he keeps running to the crest of the valley, throwing himself flat at the top of it, claws receding and (hopefully) hidden in the brush.


    It is Fargo. And Brooklyn. They��ve got a peryton pinned down below, one wing dragging broken and useless behind it as it limps, cornered and panicked. It��s bleeding, too; the blood like thick, rotting tar, bubbling and burning where it hits the ground.


    ��Eat shit you piece of shit!�� Brooklyn yells, not particularly articulately, and fires another three rounds into the dying beast. Eli isn��t an expert at firearms��the closest he��s ever been to an actual gun has been in videogames��but something about Brooklyn��s pistol seems . . . not right. It��s too big, somehow, and too . . . something. Magic, maybe, but something Eli��s never seen before; not the clean, fresh feeling of the shyu����ur, nor the rotten corruption of the shyu����kki. It doesn��t feel wrong, exactly, just . . . out-of-context. Like watching an eagle swim.


    Even so, Eli knows he doesn��t want to get closer.


    Neither does the peryton. Brooklyn is a terrible shot, and two of his rounds go wide. He curses again, even as the peryton screams and lunges forward. It isn��t close, exactly, but Brooklyn still stumbles back a step in fear, and as he does his foot catches on something Eli can��t see. A rock or a root, or just the ground. Either way, Brooklyn goes down.


    Fargo yells what Eli assumes is Brooklyn��s name, but it��s drowned out by the peryton��s roar. Sensing weakness, it lunges forward, this time opening its wounded-but-powerful wings and flapping once, twice. Enough to propel it forward and onto Brooklyn��s chest.


    Eli freezes. It��s Val all over again, but worse. These men are his enemy, he knows��knows they��d kill him in an instant, or worse, that it��s their job to do as much��but that doesn��t mean he can let them die. He should find his scales, find his wings and his claws and his fangs. Take them and his courage and leap forward and��


    A gunshot. And another. And another. Bang bang bang, too loud and somehow not loud enough between the trees. And the peryton, giving one final scream that cuts off hideously into a wet, choking gurgle.


    Then the thud as it hits the ground. Then silence.


    For a moment, Eli can barely breathe. Then:


    ��Fuck. Almost . . . almost had me.��


    ��Not today.�� Fargo lowers his gun, slowly, like his body doesn��t quite want to give up its tense, wide-legged stance. The first shot had hit the peryton dead between the eyes, had taken off half its head. The others had just been to make sure it stayed gone. ��It hurt you?��


    ��Just my pride.�� Brooklyn goes to stand, stumbles, then accepts Fargo��s hand when it��s offered. As he does, he looks at the corpse of the peryton, already starting to decompose into oily ash and smoke. ��One more down.��


    ��God only knows where they keep comin�� from. Should��ve got the last of ��em when the techs purged the jars.��


    ��Asshole must��ve kept one in reserve,�� Brooklyn says. ��And with that kid the other day . . .��


    Silence, both men watching the peryton��s corpse. Then:


    ��What . . . whatcha think got the others?��


    ��Huh?��


    ��The dead jar,�� Brooklyn clarifies. ��Something��d been at it before we got here.��


    Fargo eyes him, assessing. ��Don��t ask questions above your pay grade,�� he says eventually. ��Things��ll work out a helluva lot smoother the quicker you learn.��


    �� . . . Like that, huh?�� Brooklyn doesn��t sound happy about it.


    ��Look, it . . . it ain��t nothin�� personal. But this town . . . it��s G-Class.��


    ��That why Lacroix is stationed out here? In this pisshole?��


    ��Yeah.��


    ��Huh.��


    They��re talking about him, Eli realizes. Because he killed the peryton before they could. And he has no idea what ��G-Class�� is��the way Fargo had said it, it sounded official��but if it has something to do with Lacroix . . .


    But Lacroix��s been in Rosemont for years; Arthur and Morgan went to grade school here. So if she wasn��t here for Eli, then . . . what?


    The grotto, he thinks. It��s something to do with Widow Adeline��s grotto. Had it belonged to another dragon, once? Something Lacroix hunted? Or killed? He should ask. Maybe there are a lot of things he should be asking, except there��s been so much else going on, and . . .


    And below, Brooklyn and Fargo have started doing something to the peryton��s corpse. They��re distracted, but not for long, and Eli is suddenly far-too aware that the forest is far-too silent.


    He needs to get out of here.


    His heart is hammering as he inches himself slowly out of his hiding place, barely daring to breathe lest the men below hear it. At every rustle of leaves he freezes, terrified, but the voices don��t get closer and, after what feels like an eternity, Eli has crept far enough away that he dares to stand. He tiptoes for another few hundred feet, painfully aware of every step. Then, when he thinks he��s far enough away, breaks into a run.


    Nothing follows him home.


    That night, sleep does not come easy.

 “You said you’d killed one before.”

    ��You don��t look so good. Are you . . . are you okay?��


    Thursday morning, and Eli feels like his head is ready to burst and his eyelids have rusted shut. He is one-hundred percent not ready, in other words, to deal with Morgan Lacroix.


    ��Yeah,�� he says. ��Just . . . rough night, y��know?��


    Morgan nods. She��s still in all-black but it��s not quite the lace-and-lamentation of yesterday. ��I��m sorry,�� she says and, near as Eli can tell, sounds sincere. ��If you need anything . . .�� She trails off, biting her lip and looking away, almost as if she knows how futile the offer is.


    ����m okay,�� Eli lies. ��Just . . . need time, y��know?��


    Morgan nods.


    Morgan has cornered him just outside the school, and there��s an awkward moment where neither of them seem to know what to say. Eli��s trying to figure out an excuse to leave when Morgan��s eyes suddenly dart between him and their surroundings, and she leans forward to hiss:


    ��I got it.��


    ��Huh?�� says Eli, eloquent as always.


    ��The . . . the files,�� Morgan clarifies, or tries to. ��About the murders.��


    ��Oh,�� says Eli. Then, when the memory clicks in place: ��Oh!��


    ��From Mom��s laptop. I took photos. I don��t�� I need your number. I��ll text them. Then I have to delete them����said with great urgency����Mom can never know I took these. You understand, right?��


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli, who does. ��Of course.��


    He exchanges numbers with Morgan and, a moment later, a series of photos ping into his messaging app. They��re grainy and low-res, obviously taken of the screen of another computer, but they��re readable enough.


    ��Is that . . . is that what you needed?�� Morgan asks.


    The photos haven��t come through in any particular order than Eli can tell. Discovery, maybe. He��ll have to piece the rest together himself. Out loud, he says:


    ��Yeah. Yeah, man. This is great. Thanks.��


    ��Anytime,�� Morgan says, although Eli doesn��t think she really means it. Maybe that she thinks she means it, but . . .


    ��I just,�� Morgan is saying, ��I just really think����


    Except Eli never finds out what Morgan really thinks, because she goes suddenly stiff.


    ��Morgan? Hey, Morgan?��


    ��I . . . I should go.�� Morgan��s eyes are fixed on a point beyond Eli��s shoulder. He can��t see what she��s looking at directly, but they��re around near the science block lab windows, and the light is just right that Eli can make out the round dark silhouette of what can only be Zoe.


    ��I��ll see you around, Elias.�� Morgan is afraid, Eli realizes. Of Zoe. And for one terrible moment he wonders if Zoe . . . did something. Under the influence of the r��s��k.


    God, he hopes not. For Zoe��s sake, he really, really hopes not.


    He doesn��t stop Morgan when she goes to leave, and he doesn��t try and follow her. Instead, he waits until Zoe comes close enough to say:


    ��Morgan?��


    She doesn��t sound angry, though. Just curious. Thank the stars, as Widow Adeline would say.


    ��Library?�� Eli counters. He wants to talk to Zoe, but not here.


    Zoe, understanding, just nods.


    <hr>


    They find an empty aisle in the fiction section, S-U, down the end where no-one goes. Zoe��s dressed as the Doctor today, in a grey coat and yellow bracers, nails flashing Dalek gold and Time Vortex red.


    ��Morgan got me photos,�� Eli says, when he��s sure they��re alone. ��Of the victims.��


    ��From the��?�� Zoe says, eyes going wide at the word she doesn��t dare say. Then, at Eli��s nod: ��Who��?��


    They both crowd close to Eli��s phone, flicking through the images of the reports Morgan found. Seven in total, describing four victims. ��Like the hearts,�� Zoe says, and Eli nods. The reports have embedded photos��photos of photos, Eli supposed��and he thinks he recognizes some of the images from the ones Lacroix was showing Zoe the other day, although they��re thankfully blurry.


    None of the victims�� names mean anything to him. Devin Steadman, male, age 46. Truck driver, found in the ruins of his truck after crashing near the interstate, about six miles out of Rosemont proper. Originally written off as a traffic accident, the missing heart described as post-mortem scavenging by local wildlife. It��d been the case that had tipped the Lyddans off.


    Next victim: Pixie Hayworth, female, age 32.


    ��I��ve seen her around,�� Zoe says, pointing to Hayworth��s mug shot. She��s hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed, looking much older than her age in the way of someone who��s life has had few comforts. ��She��s homeless, I think. And . . . y��know. Drugs and stuff.��


    ��Someone no one would miss,�� Eli mutters. Except someone had; Hayworth��s mother, living in a nursing home in Florida, who��d reported her daughter missing after she hadn��t picked up for their weekly phone call.


    She was a troubled girl, is the statement from Mrs. Hayworth, written in blurry text. But she never missed our calls. Never.


    Pixie Hayworth had eventually been found near Old Coe Road. Official cause of death: exposure and, again, post-mortem scavenging. The only strange thing had been the remains of black feathers, pulled from her teeth. Like she��d been biting a bird before she died. There��s a note, presumably from Lacroix: Same found in grille of V1��s truck.


    Victim number three: John Doe, male, estimated to be in his mid-twenties. A presumed undocumented migrant worker, found dismembered in the woods. More signs of post-mortem animal scavenging. Found as V3, read the notes, but TOD likely before V2/V1.


    And, finally, victim number four: Philip Singleton, male, age 57. Found near Lake Travers amidst the remains of his fishing gear, after being reported missing by his supervisor at the Rosemont Sunoco. Assumed cause of death: heart attack, though the heart itself was missing due, again, to post-mortem animal scavenging.


    ��Four deaths,�� Eli says.


    ��There were four hearts,�� Zoe says, voice low and quiet. ��In the . . . y��know.��


    ��Yeah.�� A detail niggles, though, and Eli flicks back through the photos to confirm it. ��Except . . . all of these deaths,�� he says. ��They all talk about animal attacks, or feathers, or whatever.��


    ��Well . . . it��s the peryton, right?��


    Eli nods, tight and unhappy. ��I . . . When I saw . . . With Val. That peryton, it����


    He��d been doing all right, Eli thought. Just kinda . . . getting on with things. Not thinking about . . . about that. About wet screams and the sound of snapping bones. About the horrible unnatural tearing sound as the peryton took Val��s heart and��


    ��Eli?�� Zoe��s hand is on his arm, carefully covering the phone��s screen and lowering it from his sight. His knuckles are pale from holding the device so tightly, and Eli forces himself to relax. He can��t crush his phone. The photos are on his phone.


    ��It��s okay, Ee,�� Zoe is saying. ��If you don��t want to talk about it����


    ��It made a copy,�� Eli blurts, because he does. He does want to talk about it. He wants Zoe to know, because he doesn��t want to have to be the only person that does. ��The peryton. It ate Val��s heart and�� and suddenly there were two of it.��


    ��You . . . you��re saying this is, what? How they reproduce?��


    ��Yeah, I . . . I guess.�� If something so vile, so unnatural as the peryton could even be said to do such a thing. ��And all these people, Zee,�� he adds. ��The peryton, a peryton, killed them. Not a human.��


    ��Yeah, so?��


    ��So, Zee.�� Eli turns to her, wide-eyed and hush-voiced, and says:


    ��So where did the first one come from?��


    <hr>


    The worst part is, they still have to go to classes. It��s not quite like it used to be, though, and somehow that��s worse. Val��s death hangs low and heavy over the school, rumors flying about the man who supposedly killed him. There are even posters, pinned up discreetly near the front office. Have you seen this man? If you have information please call . . . There��s a sketch, too, of a sort of nondescript white dude in a hoodie and coat. Based off the lies Eli and Arthur told the Sheriff, backed up by the Lyddans, and the sight of it makes Eli feel sick to his stomach. His father was an officer of the court, and somehow lying to the cops, about a series of murders, feels like Eli��s just dug up Dad��s grave and pissed in the coffin.


    He��s lightheaded and shaking by the time he gets to Chem, and barely registers Jake sitting down next to him.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ��Hey,�� Jake says. ��I, um. Sorry ��bout the other day.��


    ��Huh?��


    ��Y��know. I was kind of . . .�� Jake trails off, making a nothing-sort of flapping gesture with his hand. ��I saw Zoe. She says . . . she says you��re cool, now.��


    ��Oh,�� says Eli. Right, of course. ��Yeah. Yeah, we��re cool.��


    ��Cool,�� says Jake, although his voice does not sound like someone who thinks that��s cool at all. Jake and Zoe have known each other since grade school. Eli wouldn��t have said they were close, and neither would Zoe, but he thinks maybe Jake doesn��t see it that way.


    He��s, y��know. Hasn��t had such a great time, Zoe had told Eli once. With what happened with his mom, and his dad being in jail. He lives with his grandma in Rose Grove, but she��s, like, super-old. Jake��s kinda the adult in the house, I think. So . . . I feel kinda bad, y��know?


    Eli thinks of how many lasagnes and tacos he��s cooked when Aunt Addi��s been pulling late night at the station, and maybe he does know. And if Jake kinda has a crush on Zoe, who could blame him? Zoe��s great. And if maybe she spends more time with Eli now��especially now now, after everything��then maybe Jake��s been getting a bit lonely.


    Things will change, in high school, Dad had said once, smirking that smirk he used to get, when he thought he knew something Eli didn��t. (So, like. Always.) People I thought I��d be best friends with forever . . . nowadays, I��d never even remember their names if they didn��t keep adding me on Facebook.


    ��Hey, um, Elias?��


    Jake��s voice, and Eli blinks, banishing the memory of Dad��s voice. He��s been doodling Xyl��tha again. He should probably stop that. At least until this stuff with Lacroix blows over.


    Out loud, he says:


    ��Yeah?��


    ��Did you, um. Do you have my textbook?��


    Eli does not. Hadn��t even remembered Jake had loaned it to him, in fact, and he winces. ��Oh, damn, man. Sorry. It��s just . . . with everything, y��know.��


    ��Yeah,�� Jake says. ��Yeah, of course. No problem.��


    ��I��ll get it for you tomorrow, okay?��


    ��Yeah, thanks man.��


    Of course, that means neither of them have a book for the class. Eli gets the impression Mr. Roughton wants to tell them off but doesn��t, muttering something instead about that being understandable ��considering the circumstances.��


    Eli, meanwhile, is still trying not to think of the circumstances.


    As it happens, he never does get the book back to Jake.


    <hr>


    ��Hey. Can we, um. Talk?��


    Lunchtime. Eli��s at Zoe��s locker, standing guard while she sorts her things, just in case Morgan gets any more ideas. Turns out, he��s been worrying about the wrong Lacroix.


    Arthur is alone again today, dressed in a black button-down and black jeans. Eli��s wearing a purple hoodie and suddenly feels like maybe he shouldn��t be. A guy just died, after all. Eli just watched a guy die.


    Not that he owns much all-black clothing. Walking around wearing all-black clothing is . . . sometimes not the safest choice, for guys like Eli.


    Arthur doesn��t look angry, or threatening, even dressed in all-black. He looks kinda . . . furtive. Guilty, too-blue eyes constantly darting around, like he��s worried someone��s gonna notice him having a chat with the school pariahs.


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli. ��Sure.�� The guy did save him from a monster. Eli supposes that buys a fair slab of benefit of the doubt.


    ��Um.�� Arthur looks at Zoe, then away. ��Maybe, like. In private?�� Then, when Eli just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow: ��It��s about t�� the other day. Something you said.��


    The other day. The peryton, Eli thinks. It must be.


    ��Zoe��s cool,�� he says. ��Anything you wanna say to me, you can say in front of her.��


    He waits for Arthur to argue but, surprisingly, the guy doesn��t. Just thins his lips for one moment and makes a breathy kind of huff. ��Right,�� he says, in the voice of someone fitting a piece into a particularly tricky puzzle. ��Yeah, of course. Of course she��d���� He cuts himself off. ��Not here, though. Follow me.��


    He takes a few steps away, and Eli uses the opportunity to shoot a look at Zoe. She just shrugs an makes an I dunno kind of expression, but goes to follow. Eli takes the rear guard.


    Arthur leads them into an empty classroom, in which an ambush and/or beating does not materialize, so Eli takes it that they��re making progress.


    ��All right,�� he says. ��What��s up?��


    ��The other day,�� Arthur says. ��With the . . . When Val���� His voice cuts off, like it can��t make itself articulate what it doesn��t want to be true. Eli knows that feeling, so just nods, and Arthur��s whole body seems to sag in relief. ��You, uh. You said you��d killed one before,�� Arthur continues. ��One of the�� the Emanations.��


    ��Peryton,�� Eli says, because he refuses to use Lacroix��s word for them.


    ��Right. You said you��d killed one, but . . . but you didn��t tell Mom that.��


    Eli feels his scales itch beneath his skin. If Arthur is back onto his Drake-is-a-monster crap . . .


    Except Arthur must read his expression, and adds: ��It��s not�� I��m not gonna rat you out. To Mom, or whatever you��re thinking. I just . . .�� He pauses, looks around again like he expects Yvonne to come leaping out from behind the desks. ��You did it with magic, didn��t you?�� Almost a whisper.


    Eli exchanges another look with Zoe, and she nods, just barely, wide eyed and fascinated.


    ��Yeah,�� he lies. At least, he thinks it��s a lie. He isn��t magic. He��s just . . . a dragon.


    ��Good,�� says Arthur. He��s nodding, but not to Eli. Maybe not to anyone but himself. And then he says the absolute last thing Eli expects to hear: ��I want you to teach me.��


    Eli��s mouth drops open, he can��t help it. He didn��t think that really, literally happened to people but, apparently it does. Because it��s happening to Eli, right now.


    Did Arthur Lacroix, son of Yvonne Lacroix of the Lyddan Group, sworn nemesis of all that is magical . . . Did that Arthur Lacroix just ask Eli to teach him magic?


    ��Ex-cuse me?�� Apparently it��s Zoe who finds her voice first. ��You want Eli to what?�� She isn��t angry when she says it. She��s furious. Eli��s surprised the desks aren��t levitating or catching fire or something with the rage.


    Not even Arthur can miss it, and it must scare him, because he takes a step backwards and holds up both hands, placating. ��You��re right,�� he says. ��I��m sorry. I��m sorry. I should��ve asked you.��


    Whatever Zoe was expecting him to say, apparently that hadn��t been it. ��What?��


    ��It . . . it��s you, isn��t it?�� Arthur says, voice dropping low again as his eyes scan around the room. ��Morgan��s right about that at least. You��re a witch.��


    ��Hey, now���� is as far as Eli gets.


    ��A good witch!�� Arthur hurries to add. ��Is . . . is there a different word? But you are, right? You know how to use magic to . . . to fight things like the Em�� the preything.��


    ��Peryton,�� Zoe corrects. ��And . . . yeah. And that��s still not a crime.��


    Arthur shakes his head. ��I know. Mom is . . . Mom. But I saw that thing, what it�� what it did. To Val. And if you know how to destroy it, I want to know too.��


    ��Your mom is gonna burn you at the stake if she finds out.��


    Arthur winces. ��I know,�� he says. ��But I have to do something. For Val.��


    A pause, long and tense, and how Zoe manages to stare down Arthur when he��s got a good foot over her in height Eli will never know. But she manages. Assessing his sincerity, Eli assumes, and Arthur must as well, because he stares back, expression open yet determined.


    ��All right,�� Zoe says, finally. ��I can teach you some basic stuff. Warding, shielding����then, when it looks like Arthur��s going to protest����and then, if I find out I can trust you. Then we can move on to the harder stuff.��


    ��You don��t just turn into a monster hunter overnight,�� adds Eli who, he has to admit, kind of did.


    ��Come over tonight,�� Zoe says, looking as if she can��t believe the words are being spoken from her very own lips. ��Pretend I��m helping you in, I dunno.��


    ��English?�� suggests Arthur.


    ��Sure, English.��


    They make a time, and exchange numbers. It all feels very strange, and Eli hopes Arthur really is as sincere as he seems. Hopes it��s not just some ploy to get inside Zoe��s house, to find evidence for Yvonne, and��


    And . . . what is Eli thinking? Zoe��s right; nothing she��s doing is illegal. She��s not responsible for the peryton or the murders and it��s not illegal to cast spells, even if only for that fact that the law doesn��t believe in them. So even if Arthur did manage to find irrefutable proof Zoe was making magic amulets or brewing healing potions, there��s nothing Yvonne could do about it. Rat Zoe out to her folks, maybe, except the Chungs know about Zoe��s witch thing��they buy her most of her stuff, even��and think it��s all harmless because they don��t believe in it either. They don��t even go to church, and Eli is pretty sure that they��re atheists, if only because he��s overheard Mrs. Wilcox down at the store gossiping about it.


    (For that matter, he isn��t even convinced adults whose literal jobs it is to play pretend magic games all day would think actual, objectively demonstrated magic was scary anyway. Ms. Chung would probably just make Zoe go to witch school to learn how to cast fireball correctly.)


    So it��ll be fine. Eli thinks. Just . . . fine.


    <hr>


    There is one more thing, though.


    ��Hey, um. Elias?��


    They��re back in the hallway again, Arthur hanging behind as the super-secret-Scooby-Gang meet-up is over and hubbub of the school catches up with them. So Eli is not expecting it when Arthur says:


    ��So. We��re having a, y��know. A thing. For Mo. On Friday, at our place. I, um. He really loved your stuff, so it��d mean a lot if . . .�� Arthur trails off, suddenly awkward, as if suddenly catching on to the implications of asking Eli to play at the wake of a guy who��d beaten him up more than once.


    ��You . . . want me to do a mix,�� Eli asks, just for clarity.


    ��Um. Yeah.�� Then, more clearly: ��Look, I��d totally get it if you��re not into it. I know we�� We��ve been assholes to you since you got here. I just����


    ��What was his favorite track?�� Eli isn��t here for Arthur��s change-of-heart pity-party. Not right now.


    Except Arthur answers, no hesitation: ����Waifu Perfect Class 2.���� Then, like he��s just realized how ridiculous that sounds out loud, laughs. ��I mean. He was such a fuckin�� weeb. Mo, I mean.��


    Eli would not have picked that, but he supposes that��s the point. ��Waifu Perfect Class 2�� was one of Eli��s early attempts to mess around with Vocaloid, and it both kinda sucks and is so embarrassing Eli almost didn��t post it. Not something Arthur would be picking to make Val look cool. So . . . saying Val liked it is probably legit. Huh.


    ��And it��s at your place?��


    ��Well, the rec centre.�� Arthur nods at Zoe. ��She knows it. And, um. You��re invited too.��


    ��What a way to make a girl feel special.�� But Zoe just rolls her eyes and adds, to Eli: ��It��s the building next to the pool.��


    At the Heights, right. Eli��s seen it from the outside but Zoe��s never taken him in. It��s been too cold for swimming, and as far as Eli can tell the place is mostly just used by the Heights��s other residents to run their bridge clubs and whatever.


    So Eli nods. ��Yeah,�� he says. ��Yeah, of course man.�� Walking right into the lion��s den, a.k.a. The Lacroix family home, he��s not that into. But the Rosemont Heights Recreational Centre he can do.


    Arthur visibly relaxes at Eli��s acceptance. ��Thanks, man,�� he says. ��It . . . it means a lot. And for what it��s worth, I��m sorry about everything.��


    Don��t say sorry, Dad always used to say. ��Sorry�� is just words. Do better, instead. And isn��t that what Arthur��s trying? To do better. Eli can work with that.


    They wave Arthur goodbye and it��s all almost . . . cordial. Not like they��re friends, but like they maybe could be. When Arthur��s vanished around the corner, Zoe exhales very suddenly and very loudly. ��Well,�� she says. ��Never in a million����


    ��Were you just . . . making plans with Arthur Lacroix?��


    Zoe cuts herself off, and she and Eli both turn with a start to where Jake has apparently been watching them from behind a bank of lockers. He looks . . . kinda pissed off.


    ��It��s nothing,�� Zoe says, much more convincingly than Eli ever could. ��Lacroix is flunking English and wants a tutor. So he came to the best.�� She points at herself, grinning. ��Plus, he asked Eli to do some mashups at Val��s, like, wake thing.��


    ��Wake?��


    ��Yeah,�� Eli says, nodding. ��Tomorrow. At the rec centre at the Heights.��


    ��It��ll just be all Lacroix��s crew,�� Zoe adds. ��Kinda sucks, but the guy just died, so . . .�� She gives a little what are you gonna do? shrug.


    Jake nods. ��Yeah,�� he says. ��Yeah, sure.�� He sounds like he��s trying to convince himself more than anything.

 “I lied. I wasn’t scared. I was guilty.”

    At 2:30, Eli gets a text from Aunt Addi, reminding him about Doctor Mallory.


    Mallory is Eli��s shrink, and has been since Eli moved to Rosemont. He is . . . okay. Mostly they just talk about stuff and Mallory uses a soft voice and makes suggestions like ��have you tried starting a new hobby?�� or ��running seems to help, doesn��t it?�� Eli really only goes because it makes Aunt Addi feel better. He doesn��t think Mallory is a bad person or anything, it��s just he��s so . . . old. And white. And sometimes says old white man things like ��I suspect you saw a lot of violence, growing up,�� like he thinks Eli came out of some lurid TV cop-show version of East Harlem, circa 1995, and not twenty-first century Midtown.


    As it turns out, about the most violence Eli ever saw ��growing up�� was watching cops manhandle homeless people off the subway. So much for that life, he supposes.


    So it��s not like Eli thinks Doctor Mallory is bad, exactly, but he also doesn��t feel the need to correct the version of Elias Drake Mallory obviously keeps in his head. Eli knows this means Mallory isn��t going to be doing him much good, mental-health wise, but the guy��s Rosemont��s only psychologist and it��s not like Eli��s got other options. So he goes along, to keep Aunt Addi happy, and says vague and non-specific things, to reassure Mallory that he is just some surly damaged urban projects kid, or whatever it is the old guy thinks.


    Mallory��s office is on Main, a couple blocks from the school. Eli has a note from Aunt Addi to bail out of class, and only just manages to dodge getting escorted by one of the Rosemont High��s finest. Like the ��security officers�� ever did shit for Eli when he was getting beat up by Arthur��s goons, and like they could do shit against a peryton, if one decided to chase Eli through the middle of Rosemont proper.


    The town is quiet today. Eli supposes murders will do that, and the weather isn��t helping. The sky isn��t quite raining but is certainly threatening, clouds like shotcrete still hanging low and heavy, the air damp and cold with the slow creep of winter.


    Nothing happens on the way to Mallory��s office, which at least is warm, and filled with comfortable furniture and soft, cream-colored walls. Eli lies on the former and stares at the latter while he dutifully tells Mallory the story he invented with Arthur the other day. He keeps things sketchy and kinda vague. Best way to hide a lie, Dad always said, because liars always add too many detail to the their stories. Trying for verisimilitude, Dad had explained, smirking his courtroom smirk. But something being real and something being convincing aren��t the same. And reality? Sometimes reality has a way of being the most unrealistic thing of all.


    And then Doctor Mallory asks:


    ��In the cave, with Arthur. What were you feeling?��


    ��Afraid,�� Eli says, without thinking. Except . . . except that��s a lie, isn��t it? He hadn��t been afraid at all. Not really.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ��That��s understandable���� Mallory is saying, except Eli blurts:


    ��No. I lied. I wasn��t scared. I was guilty. Because of Val, y��know? Because I could��ve�� I should��ve . . .�� Saved him, he doesn��t say. Because how could he explain it? To a guy who thinks he��s just some kid.


    ��There isn��t anything you could��ve done, Elias,�� says Doctor Mallory, predictably. ��None of this is your fault. You need to know that.��


    ��Yeah,�� says Eli, who doesn��t believe as much for a New York minute. ��I guess.��


    <hr>


    He leaves Doctor Mallory��s office feeling exposed and kind of raw, just like usual, replaying the conversations over and over in his head, trying to figure out if he said too much, as usual. Running helps calm him down, so he tightens the straps on his backpack��retrieved from the forest floor care of Aunt Addi, and still bearing the little tag from where it��d been, very briefly, considered evidence��and picks through the streets at a clip, pretending like he��s darting between the raindrops that��ve just begun to fall, heavy and fat. He makes it back to Aunt Addi��s just as the sky opens and the deluge comes down, wet fingers slipping on the doorknob as he hustles himself inside.


    Addi isn��t home yet, although the note on the fridge says she will be, and not to worry about dinner. Eli doesn��t, instead heads to his room, stripping out of his wet clothes and changing them for the thick, plush robe that had, not so long ago, belonged to Dad. It��s one of the few things Eli had taken with him out of the penthouse; deep purple with gold-threaded brocade around the cuffs and belt. Mom had bought it and thought it was hilarious, and Dad��he normally of the conservative gray suits and  understated blue ties��had kept it because it��d made her laugh.


    Eli still misses them. So much. He��s fine, most of the time. Can pretend this is all just, like, some crazy summer camp or that they��re away on some vacation or whatever. Most of the time. Not always.


    Eli slips his hand into the robe��s pocket, feeling for the bracelet. One of Mom��s, platinum and diamond and shaped like a . . . huh. Shaped like a dragon. Mom had had rooms of jewelry but the bracelet had been her favorite, and Eli can barely remember seeing her without it. He��s pretty sure she slept with it. It��s probably worth more than Aunt Addi��s entire house but it��s not about the money. Mom always had plenty of that and so now, so does Eli. But he has so little of her. She��d been away a lot, growing up. Business, Dad had always said, and he��d been the one to take care of Eli, most of the time. To help him with school or take him to eat ice creams in the park when he��d felt down. But when Mom was home, she��d always been like a supernova; beautiful and brilliant, intense and untouchable, somehow, even when she was hugging Eli or ruffling his hair or, when he was younger, laughing as he crawled into her lap.


    It occurs to Eli, quite suddenly, that he really didn��t know either of his parents all that well. They loved him dearly and he never doubted that��never wanted for anything, love most of all��but they��d been their own people, too, in a way Eli had never been privy to. He thinks maybe that��s normal, and for one brief, blinding moment he burns with the rage that he��ll never get to know who they really were.


    Beneath his palm, the metal of his mother��s bracelet starts to bend, just a fraction, and Eli forces himself to unclench his hand. When he pulls it from its pocket and looks at it, he sees the bracelet��s left the imprint of scales in a thick stripe, right across his palm.

 “She’s a real Stacey, I’ll give you that. So I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

    Nothing much else happens for the rest of the evening. Eli cooks dinner with Aunt Addi, and sends some texts back and forth with Zoe, just to make sure Arthur��s not doing anything . . . Lacroix-ish. He��s not, judging from Zoe��s enthusiastic replies (im corrupting a lacroix with my wicked witchy ways!), and that makes Eli feel a little better.


    Addi isn��t so enthusiastic about Val��s wake, partly because of the whole murders thing, but mostly because of who extended the invitation.


    ��Arthur��s . . . okay,�� Eli says, and almost can��t believe he��s saying it. ��He apologized for being a jerk. Kinda.��


    Addi sighs, stabbing at her spaghetti with her fork, smashing apart the meatballs distractedly. ��It��s not Arthur I��m worried about,�� she says. ��Yvonne Lacroix is . . . dangerous. More than you know.��


    ��Okay, Aunt Addi,�� says Eli, who think he knows exactly how dangerous the woman is. More so than Addi does. ��I promise I��ll be careful.��


    In the end, Addi agrees to let him go, but only after he assures her Zoe will be there as well. This, as it turns out, isn��t even a lie.


    arthur wants to ward the rec centre, Zoe texts, as Eli is messing around with his computer, trying to turn ��Waifu Perfect Class 2�� into something appropriate for a wake (��Melancholy Perfect Class��, Eli calls it, if only in his head). just in case


    Prolly a good idea, Eli replies. Then he sends Zoe a rough cut of the track he��s working on. Her only reply is to send back a list of her favorite depressing Vocaloid songs, so Eli figures he��s still got some way to go.


    <hr>


    Friday morning, Eli��s tired and cranky after spending too long patrolling for peryton in the pouring rain, and not long enough sleeping in his warm, dry bed. He didn��t find anything but, near as he can tell, no one got murdered either, which he supposes will have to do.


    The rain hasn��t let up by morning, so Eli pulls his hair back for once and buries himself inside the deepest darkest recesses of his ludicrously oversized Reaper hoodie. When Zoe finds him, half-asleep inside his own locker, she makes a noise of frustrated disappointment.


    ��Tsch, Ee! You should��ve told me! I would��ve worn my Mei!��


    ��Sorry,�� Eli mutters, mostly into his textbooks.


    Zoe, who is wearing her Kalos trainer outfit and has watched more episodes of CW shows than Eli��s taken rides on the subway, narrows her eyes and says, voice hushed, ��Long night patrolling?��


    Eli nods, making a vague affirmative sound as he drags himself upright. ��Nothing,�� he adds, to answer Zoe��s inevitable next question.


    ��Well . . . that��s good, right?�� Zoe tries. ��At least that means no-one . . . y��know.��


    ����S what I told myself.�� A thought occurs and Eli starts patting down his front, eventually locating the little ziplock baggie shoved to the bottom of one of his pockets. ��Here,�� he says, handing it to Zoe. ��For the warding. Sorry it��s kinda gross.��


    Zoe��s eyebrows get very high first, Eli assumes, at the fact he��s passing her suspicious baggies out in front of his locker and then, when she��s processed the appearance of said baggies, over the contents. ��Is this��?��


    ��Yeah.�� Eli runs a hand around the nape of his neck, where he��s suddenly sporting about half an inch of short, rough-cut fuzz. Zoe wants to keep the peryton out of Val��s wake, and that��s something Eli can help with, if only as a supplier of raw materials for the magic.


    ��Thank you,�� Zoe blurts, voice unsteady. ��I just�� Thank you.�� She basically throws herself at Eli in an awkward, but heartfelt, hug. He returns it, enjoying the warm, soft feel of her beneath his hands for one moment, then two. Then Zoe is stepping away, sniffing, and Eli lets her go.


    ��You��re the best,�� Zoe says, tucking the dragon hair away in her bag. ��You know that, right?��


    ��I have my moments,�� Eli says, managing a grin. Funny, how he doesn��t feel quite so tired any more. Must be magic.


    ��Also,�� Zoe leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ��Morgan is totally giving me massive stink-eye. I think she wants to talk to you.��


    Eli blinks and turns and, sure enough, there��s Morgan, standing halfway down the hall, glaring daggers at Zoe. Her expression softens when her eyes meet Eli��s, and she mouths something that might be, Talk?


    ��Go on,�� Zoe gives Eli a light punch on his arm. ��Looks like we��ve both got a case of the Lacroixs lately.��


    Eli nods and says his goodbyes to Zoe, then heads over to see what Morgan is after. Her eyes are still fixed and glaring over his shoulder when he walks up, and he��s saying, ��Don��t,�� before she can even open her mouth. ��If this is about Zoe, I don��t wanna hear it.��


    Morgan��s eyes flick between Eli and Zoe, then back again, and she says, ��Elias����


    ��Ah!�� Eli holds up a hand. ��One more word and I walk away.��


    A moment, then two. Then Morgan��s shoulders sag and her gaze drops to the scuffed, beige floor. ��Fine,�� she says. ��Whatever. It��s not . . . it��s not what I wanted to talk to you about, anyway.��


    Eli makes a gesture indicating she should continue, and even though Morgan��s not looking at him she says:


    ��It��s about the thing. For Mo. Arthur said you agreed to play something?��


    ��Yeah . . .?�� Uncertainty. He hopes this isn��t going anywhere bad.


    Except Morgan just nods and says:


    ��Thank you. I know they weren��t always nice to you, but . . . it would��ve meant a lot. To Mo.��


    ��Sure,�� says Eli, who still isn��t sure, a) whether he cares about this, or b) whether he should care. Sure, Val-slash-Mo is dead, and died in a shitty way Eli wouldn��t wish on anyone. But they hadn��t been friends and Eli feels no need to valorize the guy��s memory just because he bit the big one.


    (Just because the big one bit him, says a small, mean part of Eli��s mind. He ignores it.)


    Morgan is saying:


    ��I was thinking . . . I mean, I was going to play something too? So maybe if we, like. Did something together?��


    Okay now that, Eli hadn��t been expecting. Although, thinking back to that afternoon in the rain, maybe he should��ve been.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ��You mean, like a duet?�� he asks. ��You on your . . . violin?��


    Morgan nods. She looks oddly shy, for Morgan, but there��s something bright and soft behind her eyes. Something sad, but earnest. ��I know it��s not really what you usually do, but����


    ��No,�� says Eli, then winces. ��I mean, yeah. Yeah, no. I think . . . That��d be cool? I��ve never done it with someone playing live before, but . . . I think it��d be cool.��


    ��Oh.�� Morgan��s pink-frosted lips split open in a pretty peach smile. ��Oh, awesome. I, um . . . Did you have anything planned? Arthur said you��d asked Mo��s favorite track. Of yours, I mean.��


    Eli laughs, awkward. ��Oh, yeah. It was a bit . . . not really the right mood, maybe? But I��ve been working on something else. Like, a remix. It has a piano track I think��d be killer played live.��


    And Morgan? Morgan��s eyes light up. Eli hadn��t thought that really happened to people but, huh. Apparently it does. ��That sounds amazing,�� she says, and honestly seems to mean it.


    They make arrangements to crash the music room at lunch to practice. Eli doesn��t have his stuff, but there��s a decent computer in the school��s little studio and he keeps all his WIP files in Dropbox. By the time the arrangements have been arranged and the bell is ringing for first period, he feels . . . pretty awesome, actually. Morgan��s not too bad, when she��s not trying to drown Zoe for witchcraft, and she is pretty good on the violin. And Eli hadn��t been lying; he��s never played with someone live before but, now that the idea��s in his head, he��s totally jonesing to try it. The contrast, between his beats and Morgan��s strings, is going to be��


    ��Ooof!��


    ��is going to be running straight into Jake, apparently.


    Eli catches him before Jake can go sprawling from the inadvertent bodycheck. ��Geeze,�� he says. ��Sorry, man. Didn��t see you there.��


    Jake just huffs, and steps back. ��Getting a bit cosy there, aren��t we?�� he says.


    It��s such a legitimately strange thing to say��unnatural and accusatory, like it��s something Jake read in a book once and has been dying to try out since��that all Eli can think to reply is a perplexed, ��Huh?��


    Jake makes an aggressive pointing gesture with his chin. ��Lacroix,�� he says. ��You fucking her, or what?��


    ��Dude. The hell?�� Jake��s comment almost feels like a slap, enough that Eli takes a step back, unsure.


    ��She��s a real Stacey, I��ll give you that. So I guess I wouldn��t blame you.��


    Eli blinks, then blinks again, and finally his brain manages to catch up. ��Whoa,�� he says. ��Whoa whoa whoa. I am not . . . that with Morgan Lacroix. We��re just�� Look, there��s this thing on for Val, y��know? I told you about it yesterday. Morgan wants us to do a gig together. That��s all.��


    (Somewhere, inside, Eli thinks: Why am I justifying myself to you? Whatever this is, it��s your damage, not mine. And not Morgan��s, either.)


    Jake just narrows his eyes, and smirks in a way Eli doesn��t like. ��Sure, Drake,�� he says. ��Whatever you say.�� Then he walks off.


    Eli has a sudden, intense urge to chase him down. To grab Jake and shake him and make him admin he��s being an idiot, to admit he��s . . . what? Jealous? Eli doesn��t even know. But he does know that whatever Jake��s thing is, it isn��t Eli��s problem. Stars know Eli has enough of his own problems, without worrying about Jake��s as well.


    So he just scoffs. And heads to class.


    <hr>


    After that, the day goes not too bad. He meets up with Morgan at lunch and they jam for a bit, or whatever it��s called when you��re playing a violin. Morgan likes Eli��s new track and she has some pretty good suggestions on how to improve it��slight tempo change here, a tweak of the key there��and they��ve barely even been at things for fifteen minutes and already Eli��s feeling like he could take on the world. Musically speaking.


    It��s about then, of course, that Morgan says:


    ��I��ve been thinking about what you said.��


    ��Oh?��


    ��About . . . about Zoe.��


    ��Oh.�� Right. Eli looks up from the track lay-out out in Reaper (piano, bass, oboe; he��ll add the Vocaloid at home later, and trigger the samples from his ��pad live), to find Morgan watching him with the same clear, sharp intensity Eli��s seen from her mother and brother.


    ��I think . . . I��ve decided to believe you,�� Morgan says. ��If you think Zoe��s not . . . not a witch, then I believe you.��


    ��Er,�� says Eli. ��I mean . . . she��s not a bad witch. She totally casts spells, though. But, like. Good ones.��


    ��Mom says there is no good magic.��


    ��You believe her?��


    Morgan��s fingers pick at the strings of her violin, nervous and oddly a-tonal. ��I don��t know,�� she says eventually. ��I . . .�� She stops, looks away. Then: ��I don��t know.��


    Eli shrugs, like it doesn��t mean anything to him either way. ��Sure,�� he says. ��I get that. But Zoe? She��s great. And she don��t hurt no one.��


    ��All right.��


    ��All right,�� Eli agrees. He��s not stupid enough to think this is the end of it. After all, Zoe��s beef with Morgan is Zoe��s, and Morgan making announcements to Eli about it doesn��t mean anything. Not yet. But it could, and Eli thinks that��s probably a good start. Which is why he taps at the keyboard, and asks: ��One more time?��


    Morgan smiles, raising her violin. ��Or two or three,�� she says, winking.


    Eli laughs, and they start to play.


    <hr>


    Eli makes arrangements to meet Morgan at the rec centre at five. Val��s thing starts at six, and according to Morgan they probably won��t do tributes until after seven. That gives them plenty of time to get set up. Eli is feeling . . . pretty great about it all, actually. Playing with Morgan turned out to be a lot more fun than he��d been expecting��energizing, in a way he hadn��t been expecting��and he thinks the track they ended up with is really fitting. It still riffs off ��Waifu Perfect Class 2,�� but the beat is slower and the whole thing is re-tuned to a minor key which, honestly, can make anything sound more serious. Eli thinks maybe in a day or two he��ll ask Morgan to record a proper version with him. Like, for YouTube. It probably won��t get many hits��his slower songs usually don��t��but . . . he��s proud of it, and wants the world to know.


    Zoe texts him as he��s walking home to let him know she��s meeting up with Arthur to put up wards prior to everyone else��s arrival. Eli sends her back a thumbs up, overwhelmed for one brief moment with just how different his life is from a week ago. And not just because of the dragon stuff. Because of everything; Morgan and Arthur and Zoe and the whole cave of wonders. It��s shitty how it��s come about, what with all the murders and all, but Eli thinks he wouldn��t trade it. It feels . . . good. Like maybe he��s starting to rebuild something. Something that can last.


    It��s started drizzling again by the time Eli��s walking in the front door of Aunt Addi��s. She��s home for once, and gives him one of her awkward-but-heartfelt hugs as he walks in. ��Gonna be a storm later,�� she says, looking through the still-open doorway.


    ��It��s okay,�� Eli tells her. ��Arthur��s thing��s inside.��


    Addi scowls, more at the clouds than at Eli, then closes the front door with a resounding thunk. ��You call,�� she says. ��If anything�� Anything at all. You call.��


    ��Yes Aunt Addi,�� Eli lies. He��s getting good at that.


    According to Morgan, the wake will have finger food but Eli takes the opportunity to reheat himself leftovers for an early dinner, just in case. He hums Val��s wake song as he watches the microwave, rewriting last minute tweaks in his head, then takes his bowl of falling-apart lasagne to his room to eat.


    He��s halfway through opening Reaper when he notices the textbook.


    ��Aw, crap.��


    Jake��s Chemistry textbook, sitting innocuous and forgotten on Eli��s desk. The book he promised he��d get back to Jake, then promptly forgot about.


    A brief lance of guilt slices through Eli��s stomach. Maybe they have kinda forgotten about Jake, what with everything else going on. So Eli takes a quick look at the clock. The trailer park isn��t exactly on the way to the Heights��pretty much exactly the opposite, in fact��but Eli thinks if he heads out now he can make it there in time to meet up with Morgan.


    Hey man, he texts Jake. Got ur chem book. Coming over now to drop it off? Even as he��s sending it he��s stuffing his Launchpad and his laptop into his backpack, throwing the book in on top.


    He calls goodbye to Addi as he crashes down the stairs, coat on and hood pulled up against the drizzling rain. She tells him to be careful and he promises that he will, and then he��s jogging out into the street. Jake still hasn��t replied to his text, so he gets the address off Zoe, who��s all-too keen to send it along with a bunch of photos of the wards she��s working through with Arthur. None of it means anything to Eli, but he sends her a, nice! anyway, because she��s his friend.


    Then, he runs.

 “Fuck!”

    Eli ends up outside the Rosemont Heights Rec Centre a little before six, clothes damp from the rain and backpack still heavy with the weight of Jake��s chem book.


    Jake hadn��t been home. Eli had found the address easily enough, and had been . . . sort of surprised, actually. It��s not like he��s been to a lot of trailer parks in his life, but the neat, modern, wood-paneled trailer with the double glass front doors and rooftop patio is not what he��d been expecting. Seemed like nothing in Rosemont was immune to gentrification.


    No amount of knocking or ringing of the doorbell or peering in through windows had enticed anyone��Jake or his grandmother or otherwise��to appear, however, and things had been getting late. So Eli had moved on.


    At the rec centre, Arthur and Zoe greet him at the door which, Eli has to admit, is a sight he thought he��d never see.


    ��Dude!�� says Arthur, at the same time as Zoe announces, ��You��re soaked!��


    Zoe has changed since Eli last saw her, into a simple black dress. He almost thinks she��s out of cosplay until he sees her earrings, shaped like tiny silver bees. ��Are you . . . dressed like a witch?�� he hisses at her, while Arthur is busy off to one side doing something with a table full of finger food.


    Zoe draws a sort of triangular shape in the air with her fingers. ��My hat is full of sky,�� she says, then winks.


    Eli finds Morgan doing something with her violin in one corner of the room, not far from where a table has been set up with a memorial for Val. There��s a photo of him in a sombre, black frame, surrounded by pale white lilies and roses, plus a big book and fancy looking fountain pen for people to write messages. Morgan comes over while Eli is studying the arrangement, wondering if he should write something and, if so, what. Sorry I couldn��t save you, seems like the sort of thing that Zoe would sneer and call ��manpain,�� although maybe it doesn��t count when it��s another dude.


    ��I still can��t believe . . .�� Morgan trails off. Her fingers are resting lightly against Eli��s forearm even as she focuses on the photo of Val on the side table.


    ��Yeah,�� Eli says, because what else is there to say?


    ��Should we, um. Warm up? There are some, like. Side rooms?��


    Eli nods, and lets Morgan lead him through a door and out a short corridor. The rec centre is laid out a bit like a house. One big den, when the main wake is being set up, plus a few smaller rooms tucked away down one side. Eli glimpses tables and armchairs and so on, so assumes they��re used by, like, the Rosemont Bridge Club or whatever, for when the main room is too noisy.


    Morgan takes them into the third room down the corridor, which turns out to have a large bay window looking out towards the woods.


    ��This is pretty cool,�� Eli says, walking over to the window. It��s one of the ones with the little built-in couch thing, an assortment of pillows making the whole set-up look pretty inviting.


    ��I practice here a lot,�� Morgan says. ��The way the morning sun comes through the glass . . . it��s so beautiful. And sometimes there are deer.��


    ��Wow.�� Eli, who grew up in Manhattan, and didn��t see a wild animal bigger than a squirrel until he was a teen. Right now, however, there are no animals, deer or squirrels or otherwise. The rain has settled in like it means to stay, and the bay window��s glass is smeared and blurred with the downpour. Somewhere, far off in the distance, Eli hears the low purr of thunder.


    <hr>


    There��s an order of ceremonies for the wake, and it isn��t until Eli sees those words written on the rain-warped handout Morgan shows him that Eli realizes how much he hates them, how much they remind him of son there��s been an accident and the smell of white roses and the shiny beetle black of the coffins as they lowered from the podium and away, deep down into the belly of the beast that would burn all that was left of Mom and Dad until they were nothing but two neat littles boxes of ash, hidden in the back of Eli��s cupboard.


    He must stare at the schedule for too long, because someone is calling his name and when his fists unclench from the edges there are marks in the paper that look more like claws than fingernails.


    �� . . . Drake? You ready?��


    Eli blinks. Arthur. Arthur, right. He��s standing in the doorway of the little practice room, and for a moment he just looks so impossibly young. They really are just kids, Eli thinks. Not nearly old enough for any of this.


    ��Yeah,�� Eli says. ��Yeah, sure. Just let me move my stuff.��


    All Morgan needs is her violin, but it takes Eli a little longer to grab his laptop and his Launchpad and get everything set back up in the main room. There are a whole bunch of people here now, way more than Eli was expecting, all standing around holding red Solo cups and making subdued smalltalk in a mishmash assortment of black clothes ranging from jeans to suits. No adults, Morgan had been clear on that earlier. There��s a separate wake tomorrow for family, after the real funeral. Tonight, though, is just for Val��s peers.


    ��You need a hand?�� Zoe materializes in the little hallway as Eli is hauling his laptop, and he shakes his head.


    ��Nah, I got it.��


    ��Cool. So, uh. What did you do to Morgan?��


    ��Morgan?��


    ��She, like. Apologized to me.�� Eli hasn��t seen Zoe so disbelieving since she first set eyes on Eli��s dragon-self.


    ��That��s . . . good, right?��


    ��I don��t know.�� Uncertain, but thoughtful. Like Zoe��s still working through her own reaction. ��She said, like. All this����she gestures back towards the main room����has made her rethink a bunch of stuff. Plus she told me you��re pretty convinced I��m not an evil murderous sorcerer so, like . . . thanks?�� She bumps against Eli��s arm to show she��s joking, and he bumps back to show he gets it.


    ��Anytime, Zee.��


    ��Oh, hey. You know Jake is here?��


    ��Jake?��


    ��Yeah. I saw him, earlier.��


    ��Huh.�� They��ve entered the main room by now and Eli scans around, trying to catch a glimpse of their third wheel. ��I didn��t think he knew anyone here?��


    Zoe shrugs. ��I mean, half the school is here, so . . .��


    ��Guess Val was a popular guy.��


    ��Small towns, y��know how it is.�� Then, at Eli��s incredulous look: ��Okay, well. Maybe you don��t. So, like, Ee? This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone here, it��s just how it is.�� She��s smirking, though, and Eli bumps her with his shoulder again to let her know he��s onto her smart-assery.


    Morgan comes over just as Eli��s plugging in the last of his peripherals. She��s already looking paler than usual, what with the black clothes and subdued makeup, but there��s something about her that seems almost translucent. Fragile. Even Zoe must notice, because she shoots a worried look Eli��s way.


    ��Hey,�� he asks. ��You okay?��


    ��I . . .�� Morgan starts, then stops. Then shakes herself. ��It��s nothing.��If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ��Doesn��t look like nothing,�� Zoe comments.


    Morgan startles again like she didn��t realize Zoe was there, but she doesn��t shy away or sneer or anything. Instead, she bites her bottom lip as if trying to decide whether to speak, before blurting out:


    ��I thought I saw something. In the woods.��


    Eli and Zoe exchange looks. ����Something?����


    Morgan laughs, but it��s shrill and forced. ��It��s nothing. I��m just . . . y��know. Because of . . . because of Val.��


    ��But . . . you saw something?��


    ��I went to, y��know. The ladies��,�� Morgan says. ��There��s a window in there that looks out into the woods����


    ����Poo with a view,�� my Dad calls those,�� Zoe interjects.


    Morgan does laugh for real at that, just one single huff, but afterwards she looks a little less rattled. ��I thought I saw a shadow. Between the trees, y��know? But it��s . . . it��s probably just the rain.��


    The rec centre is warded, Eli reminds himself. Zoe did it herself, with dragon-fueled magic. So long as they��re inside . . .


    ��Yeah, not gonna take any chances.�� Zoe must be thinking the same thing as Eli. ��I��ll go check the w�� y��know. The ��perimeter.����


    Eli nods, and she slips off into the crowd.


    ��You think . . .?�� Morgan starts.


    ��I think Zoe��s right; no use taking chances. And we��re not. So long as everyone��s inside, they��re safe.�� And with the way things are coming down outside, Eli thinks there��s not much chance of any impromptu picnics.


    ��She did something, didn��t she?�� Morgan asks. ��Something magic. Against the . . . the things.��


    ��Yeah. Zoe knows what she��s doing. We��ll be all right.�� It occurs to Eli he isn��t sure if Morgan knows about Arthur��s sudden interest in witchcraft. He decides not to mention it.


    ��I told you I saw one,�� Morgan says, instead. ��How it chased me. I only escaped because���� She cuts herself off, biting her lip and looking away. At the memorial table, in fact. ��It could��ve been me,�� she says. Quiet, like she doesn��t really mean for Eli to hear.


    ��Shit,�� says Eli, because he doesn��t know what else to say. You��re welcome seems like it��d be giving too much away. Widow Adeline might��ve forgiven him for telling Zoe about the whole dragon thing, but he doubts he��d get away with a Lacroix.


    ��That��s why I thought it was her,�� Morgan says, voice still barely above a whisper. ��Zoe. Because . . . because she hated me, right? She must��ve. After���� She cuts herself off. ��After,�� she repeats instead.


    ��I don��t . . . I don��t think Zee ever hated you, exactly,�� Eli says, slowly. ��I think she just . . .�� He trails off, trying to think of the right words to wrap around the feeling he has in his heart.


    ��Just . . . really, really didn��t like me?�� Morgan offers it with a half-smile, bleak and self-deprecating. ��I don��t blame her,�� she says, before Eli can answer. ��I just . . . It��s Mom, you know? She gets . . .�� Morgan waves a hand, indistinct, as if to encompass Yvonne Lacroix in her entirety. ��It��s easy to get swept up in it.��


    ��My dad was convinced AIDS was a plot by the government to kill us. Black people, I mean.�� Eli��s voice forms the words before his brain��s realized what he��s saying. After they��re out, he blinks, startled at his own . . . what? Boldness? Candor?


    Morgan looks about as unsettled as Eli feels. ��Oh,�� she says. ��I, um . . .��


    ��It��s dumb, right?�� he adds, in a rush. ��But it was . . . I dunno. A thing. He was totally convinced about it, and listening to him . . . it all sounded so reasonable, y��know? Like, he��d talk about how the government had had a cure for, like, decades? But that they��d been holding it back, or . . . or only giving it to white folks. And I believed it, for a real long time. Because it was Dad, y��know? And Dad . . . he was so smart, and knew so much shit, and . . .�� He cuts himself off, biting his lower lip between teeth that want to form into fangs to stop the awful words. It feels like a betrayal. Dad is dead. Eli shouldn��t be��


    Except all Morgan asks is:


    ��What . . . what made you change your mind?��


    Eli thinks about this. Morgan sounds sincere, looks sincere, and so Eli decides to give her a sincere answer.


    ��I had, like . . . this friend, I guess? At school. Back in Manhattan, I mean. He was, like . . . super gay. Like, the real���� He makes a flapping gesture with his hand, and Morgan gives him a dubious expression in return. Not undeserved, he supposes. ��So, I dunno. One day, I was talking some shit, and . . . and Jace, he kinda flipped out. Like, he was such a chill dude, I don��t think I��d ever seen him mad before. But he just . . . I dunno. Went off. Starting saying all this stuff about . . . about Reagan and shit. Like, how he��d laughed ��cause ��the homos������Elis makes the air-quotes����were finally getting theirs from God. And it just made me, I dunno. Rethink things? That maybe Dad . . . he was kinda right, but also kinda wrong? Maybe the government was still a pile of shit, but it wasn��t just like that for us, it was like that for a whole bunch of people.��


    ��I think they did fuck it up,�� Morgan offers, voice slow and careful like someone picking their way across a crumbling bridge. ��AIDS, I mean. I read that on the internet. Other countries . . . not so many people died.��


    ��Yeah.�� Eli��s read the same Wikipedia page. At least, after Jace he��d read it.


    ��You know Marsha P. Johnson was Black,�� Morgan says. ��She, I dunno. Started the Stonewall riots. For gay rights or whatever. So it��s not like it��s one or the other.��


    ��Yeah.�� Eli��s read that Wikipedia page, too. ��And Dad . . . I mean. He wasn��t, like. Homophobic, or anything. But . . .��


    But. So much hanging there, in that ��but.��


    Morgan nods. ��Yeah,�� she says. ��Yeah. I mean . . . it��s different, with Mom, y��know? But, also . . .��


    ��It��s kinda not,�� Eli finishes.


    ��Yeah. I mean . . . Mom��s all, like, ��witchcraft this�� and ��demons that�� . . . but how many people through history have, like, had those things thrown at them? Just because they were, I dunno. Women, or gay, or Muslims or Jewish or scientists or . . . or whatever.��


    ��Yeah.�� Or fat, Asian-American nerds, Eli doesn��t say.


    Morgan sighs. ��I��ve been . . . I��ve been kinda shitty,�� she says.


    ��Yeah.��


    ��I, um. I apologized to Zoe. I know it��s not enough, but . . .��


    ��Just . . . Zoe��s cool,�� Eli says. ��Make it up to her, and she��ll be cool.��


    ��Yeah,�� says Morgan. Then, more determined: ��Yeah. Yeah, okay. I��ll . . . I��ll try.��


    ��Cool,�� says Eli and thinks, just maybe, that it will be.


    <hr>


    The service goes . . . pretty well, Eli thinks. Eli also thinks he��s been to too many of these sorts of things in the last year��with ��too many�� being ��any non-zero number����but Arthur and a bunch of other people Eli doesn��t know real well give some nice speeches about Val-slash-Mo, and his big duet moment with Morgan is a hit, judging by the amount of tissues being passed around.


    Eli does see Jake, lurking around the corners of the room with Zoe, and they do the whole subdued nod thing at each other when their eyes meet. Zee, meanwhile, makes a shrugging gesture Eli takes to mean she��s checked for any lurking peryton and come up with nix.


    Whether it��s the wards or the weather, Eli won��t complain.


    They take a break from the music after Mo��s younger brother gives his heartfelt tribute, mostly because the storm is getting kinda loud. The rain is absolutely hammering down and the last flash of lightning came only moments before its accompanying slam of thunder. Eli unplugs all his gear from the mains, just in case, and Morgan lays asides her violin to spend some time getting a drink and having a mingle. She brings Eli back a cup of punch he��s ninety percent certain is spiked, and he takes a sip of the too-sweet concoction while surveying the sea of people he really, maybe, should��ve taken more time to get to know these last few months.


    He supposes there��s no time like the present to start, but another glimpse of what he��s pretty sure is Jake reminds him of the whole textbook thing first. So he makes his way back to the side-room where he��d left his bag and Morgan��s violin case.


    No-one��s bothered to turn on the lights in this part of the rec centre, which makes it kinda dark. But Eli��s night vision is better than, well. A human��s, he supposes, and he successfully manages to locate Jake��s Chem book, lying half-spilled out onto the floor.


    He picks it up, flipping idly through the dog-eared pages. As he does, a spear of lightning crashes down so big and so close that the thunder is immediate and rattles all the windows in their frames.


    It also, judging from the shrieks coming from the main room, cuts the power. Eli freezes for a moment, focused on the sound, scales itching and alert for danger. But the screaming dies off quickly, and is followed by laughter and excited voices. Just the lights, then. Nothing else.


    Eli looks down, preparing to close the fallen-open textbook in his hands.


    Except, funny thing. Turns out, like a lot of kids, Jake writes shit in the margins of his books. And there, right next to the heading introducing valence bond theory, are the words:


    Fuck this is so��so shit��When will we ever need to know this crap?


    And Eli��s blood runs cold.


    The t��ten and kuten. The same Japanese-style punctuation they��d found in the book Zoe took from the sorcerer��s cabin, what seems like a million years ago. The same that��d been on the note, tipping Morgan off to search Zoe��s locker. And here it is, in blue-and-white, scribbled in cheap biro between the pages of Jake��s textbook.


    I saw him talking to Mom, Arthur had said, and the memory feels like fire in Eli��s veins. Jake. All of this, and��


    ��Fuck!�� says Eli, and bursts into a run, abandoned book crashing to the floor behind him.

 “We’re all having a shitty time, asswipe! This is high school!”

    He doesn��t, as it turns out, get far. Instead, he runs straight into Zoe in the hallway. Her eyes are wide and she��s breathing hard, like she��s been running too, which��


    ��Zee, I have to���� Eli blurts, at the same time as Zoe says: ��Eli! Listen, I����


    They both stop, stare at each other for a moment, then blurt:


    ��No, me first!��


    And it would be funny, maybe, if things weren��t so dire and Zoe didn��t look so panicked. Come to think of it, why did Zoe look so��


    Eli doesn��t even get to finish the thought. Not when Zoe blurts:


    ��I saw it, Ee! In the flash. From the lightning. We were just, I dunno. Talking. Then the lightning hit and the lights went out, and everyone screamed. And it was kinda funny, y��know? Except, Ee. Ee, there was another one. More lightning. And in the flash, Ee. I saw it.��


    And somehow, Eli just knows what she��s going to say. That little half-forgotten memory, from what seems like another lifetime, rushing to the fore:


    ��Eli. His shadow. It wasn��t his, it was the peryton��s.��


    The peryton��s shadow. Just like the evil sorcerers in Zoe��s parents�� dumb Dungeons & Dragons book.


    ��Jake,�� Eli says, and Zoe��s eye get even wider, whites seeming to almost glow both from the gloom and from the dark eyeshadow framing them.


    ��How��?��


    It��s about that time, however, that the screaming starts. For real this time, not just the half-hearted shock of before. In between the sound, Eli can feel something. A sort of static hum and a thudding bass, like being too close to a live wire and too close to a concert speaker, all at once.


    Zoe must feel it too, because she says: ��The wards. Something . . . something��s trying to get in.��


    ��Wait here,�� Eli says, as if that . . . as if that��s going to do anything. Zoe seems to realize it too, because she calls his name indignantly as he bolts down the short corridor and into the rec centre��s main room.


    People are definitely screaming. Eli has to muscle his way through the crowd, which is pressing itself against the walls, as far away from the windows as possible. They run one whole side of the room, big floor-to-ceiling plate glass looking out over the pool, hinged like they open up during summer.


    They��re closed now, though. Which is good. Because outside, the dark, hulking shape of a peryton looms. As Eli watches, it spreads open its putrid wings, lowering its head and screaming. Then it lunges at the glass.


    More screaming, from inside this time. Then a strange, almost crystalline crashing as the peryton hits, not the glass of the window, but the crackling blue-white forcefield of Zoe��s wards. It��s the same sort of magic that protected Eli, when all of this first started, except now it��s covering the entire building. Eli can feel it, bright and crisp and vibrant. Keeping the corruption outside at bay.


    ��It��s okay!�� someone shouts. ��We��re safe inside. It can��t get in.�� Arthur. It��s Arthur, pushing his way to the front of panicked group of teens, regal and confident like his namesake.


    ��It��s a monster!�� comes another voice. Then a third: ��It killed them! Those people!��


    ��It killed Val.�� Arthur strides right up to the window. ��I saw it.�� Then, to the peryton snarling at him from outside: ��You��re going to die you monstrous piece of shit!��


    Another crash of lightning, illuminating both Arthur and the beast. Then, when it clears, the sound of a single set of hands. Clapping.


    ��Oh, bravo. Bravo. Very heroic. I��m inspired, are you?��


    ��No . . .�� says Eli, voice barely a whisper.


    It��s Jake. He��s standing on what Eli realizes must be Val��s memorial table. Standing on top of Val��s memorial, pages of the guestbook crumpling beneath his muddy trainers. The crowd is pulling back from him, uncertain, glancing between him and the peryton as if unsure who they should fear the most.


    ��You.�� Arthur��s expression crumples into a confused scowl. ��You��re . . . you��re Drake��s friend.��


    Jake makes an exasperated clicking sound, shoulders and arms heaving in the over-exaggerated gesture to go along with it. ����Drake��s friend?���� he snarls. ��Really? That��s all I get? ��Drake��s friend?�� We��ve been going to school together since grade school, you mogging chad! And you don��t even remember my fucking name! None of you. Ever. Remember. My fucking. Name!��


    He��d buried his hands in the pockets of his coat, but as he speaks he pulls them out, gesturing at the crowd.


    In the right, he��s holding a pistol.


    ��He��s got a gun!�� someone shouts. There��s a half-second of panic that turns to screaming as Jake shoots a round into the ceiling.


    ��Shut up!�� he howls. ��Shut the fuck up and stay where you fucking are! I��ll fucking kill you!��


    The crowd hits the floor, diving under tables, friends huddling together, trying to protect each other with their bodies. Active shooter drills are a thing, even at Rosemont High.


    Eli drops with them. There��s a table nearby with the punch and the snacks, covered in a white tablecloth that goes to the ground, and Eli rolls underneath it. Two girls he vaguely recognizes from English class stare at him with wide-eyed terror as they clutch each other. He puts one finger to his lips, miming for silence, then mouths to them: Everything will be okay.


    Funny, Eli thinks. He doesn��t feel afraid. He doesn��t know if dragons are bulletproof but he supposes he��s about to find out. That should frighten him, maybe, but it doesn��t. Watching helplessly while Val was torn apart frightened him. Doing something, though? Protecting people? He��s a freaking dragon. Protecting people was what what he was born for.


    Outside, beyond the tablecloth, Arthur is saying: ��Jesus, I . . . Jake, right? It��s Jake. Yeah. Just . . . just put down the gun, okay? We don��t�� There��s a freakin�� monster outside, dude. Just . . . just be chill. And we��ll be okay.��


    ��Oh,�� Jake says. ��I know about the ��monster.�� Don��t I, buddy? Sit, boy! Sit! Who��s a good boy? Who��s gonna get to eat so many fuckin�� normies? Yes you are! Yes you are!��


    Next to Eli, one of the girls begins to cry, sobs muffled in her friend��s shoulder. Eli��s nails, meanwhile, have turned to claws and are gouging heavy rents in the wooden floor. Soon, he thinks to himself. Soon. Just keep him talking, Lacroix. Just a little longer. He can��t see much from beneath the tablecloth. He��s going to have to guess where Jake is, and he��s going to have to be fast, and he��s going to have to be right.


    ��This . . . this was you?�� Arthur is saying, horror dripping from his words. ��All those deaths����


    ��It was cute,�� Jake says, ��warding the place. That roastie gook bitch do that for you? I used to think she was cool, y��know? Kinda hot, for a landwhale. Then that fucking city ni����


    ��Jesus, Jake,�� Eli mutters. He doesn��t want to listen to this.


    Neither does Arthur, apparently.


    ��Oh, fuck off,�� Arthur snaps. ��You know what, that��s enough. That��s fucking enough. You don��t get to do this, make your big speech about how fucking hard things are. You��re having a shitty time? Join the fucking club! We��re all having a shitty time, asswipe! This is high school! That doesn��t mean you get to����


    ��Don��t pretend you fucking understand!�� Jake wails. And, there. A gasp in the crowd, the faintest metallic click.


    Eli lunges.


    He doesn��t think about it, doesn��t think about how many people might be watching. He just leaps forward. The space isn��t big enough for his full dragon-shape, but the claws push through his fingertips and the spines erupt from his shoulders and arms.


    He can��t get to Jake, not from where he��s been hiding, not with the huddled crowd in the way. But he can get to Arthur, and Eli slams into him now at full force, throwing Arthur to the ground just as the gunshot hammers through the rec centre, too loud and not loud enough, all at the same time.


    Eli feels it pass overhead, feels the wake of it stripping through the air. For one moment, his eyes lock with Arthur��s, who��s looking up at him, wide and astonished.


    �� . . . Drake?�� Arthur mutters, the word punctuated as the window behind them shatters into a thousand shards.


    Eli feels the wards break, a weird popping behind his ears like with the descent of an airplane.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ��The wards!�� he says. ��Get everyone out of here!�� Somewhere nearby, Jake is screaming. (��Kill them! Kill them all!��)


    ��The����


    ��Do it!�� Eli punctuates his shout with a shake, the edge of a roar creeping into his voice. ��I��ll deal with the peryton!��


    Arthur nods, just briefly, and that��s done. Eli rolls one way and Arthur rolls the other. ��Get out!�� he yells. ��Everyone! This way!��


    From somewhere in the crowd, Jake screams again, and this time it��s accompanied by the rancid taste of bad magic. Eli doesn��t bother to look and see, can��t bother to look and see, not while the peryton is hopping forward, through the shattered window, bile drooling from its razor-toothed maw.


    ��Oh,�� Eli says. ��You��re fucking done!�� And he pounces.


    It isn��t a boy that lands on top of the beast; it��s a dragon, rain-slicked scales shimmering like nebulas. The peryton screams and thrashes but Eli doesn��t give it a chance, momentum sending them both out of the rec center and into the storm, skidding across slippery wet tile. Eli is just . . . he��s done. So fucking done with all of this. So he clamps his jaws over the peryton��s throat, biting down until his mouth is flooded with the vile black ichor of the beast��s blood. It makes him want to gag and hurl but he fights the urge down, thinking of Zoe and Arthur and Morgan and everyone else. Safe. They just need to be safe. Nothing else matters.


    Eventually, the peryton stops thrashing, struggles growing weaker and weaker. Eli waits until it��s totally still, until he feels the wicked, corrupted life seep out of it. Then he rears up and stumbles backwards, desperately spitting black gunk and opening his mouth to the rain to wash it clean.


    Behind him, he hears a familiar clapping.


    Eli turns. It��s Jake, of course. His jacket is torn and singed and he looks like he��s take a few hits to the face. Like some of the other kids have tried to take him out. Good.


    ��What,�� he says, ��the fuck. Are you supposed to be? A . . . a weredragon?��


    ��Jake,�� Eli says. ��Enough. It��s over.�� It��s worth a try, he supposes. Even if Jake is oozing black smoke and bad magic, corrupted and filthy. Stars, it should��ve been so obvious. How did Eli not notice it?


    ��Oh, no,�� Jake is saying. ��When the dragon shows up it��s not over. It��s just starting!�� He gestures with one hand, and a dark shape lands behind him with a ground-rumbling thud. Another peryton, but bigger than the ones Eli��s seen before. Bigger and . . . wronger, somehow.


    ��Isn��t she beautiful?�� Jake says, gesturing to the monster. ��Now, I mean. Before . . . yikes.�� He recoils as if in disgust at the memory. ��But this magic, it��s like technology, y��know? Like, you make a great piece of art, then you shove it in a photocopier and get out a shitter version on the other side. Then you put that in, and get an even shittier version. It was like that, y��know. With the others. But this one, she was the first. And the best.�� Almost as if it understands the praise, the ur-peryton shifts its stance and opens its wings. Preening, grotesque and proud.


    ��Jake,�� Eli says. ��I just . . . why, man?��


    Jake shrugs, like none of this even matters. ��I mean, at first I thought maybe if I could, like, do something cool then Chung would finally fucking put out, y��know? I mean, years I��ve been doing nice shit for that ungrateful bitch. Just waiting for her to fucking wise up, realize she��s not going to do better. So I though, yeah. Magic, she likes that shit. But maybe if I could do real magic . . . And, hey presto!�� He gestures to the ur-peryton. ��Ebay, right? That��s the real fucking magic right there. And it was working, too. I had real fucking game. Right up until you came along. Then suddenly it was all, ��Ooh, Elias this,������he puts on a grotesque falsetto as he says it, simpering with his hands clasped beneath his chin������Elias that. He��s such a fucking Tyrone, Jake. I bet he has a hu-uu-uge dick, Jake. He��ll fuck me so wide������


    ��Dude!�� Eli rears back, claws raised in repulsion. ��What the�� She��s you fucking friend, dude!��


    ��She��s not a ��friend!���� Jake spits. ��They never are, those fucking sluts! They just fucking use you!��


    ��Jesus, Jake . . .��


    And Eli . . . Eli has no idea what to do. Not with this. Monsters, he can fight. Magic, he can deal with. But . . . this? What good is being able to turn into a dragon in the face of this?


    ��You need help,�� Eli finally says. ��Like . . . real help, dude.�� Help and jail and . . . something.


    ��Fuck you. I don��t need help. For the first time, I can finally fucking. Help! Myself!�� And he gestures, and the ur-peryton lunges.


    Eli��s ready for it, or should be, but the ur-peryton hits him like the backdraft of a jet takeoff. He goes sprawling, wings beating uselessly and claws straining to keep the ur-peryton��s teeth from his throat. It��s so close, its fetid breath gusting into his face and��


    More lightning, and in the flash, Eli sees the ur-peryton��s eyes. Not the mad goat-slats of the others, but faded blue-grey and all-too-human. Like Jake��s eyes, almost, except Eli��s never seen Jake with an expression of such pure, unfettered anguish.


    The ur-peryton is crying. Even in the rain, Eli can see that.


    ��I��m sorry,�� Eli tells it, suddenly hit with the horrifying realization that there��s still something human inside the beast. ��I��m so sorry this happened to you.��


    The ur-peryton��s eye widens, just for a moment, then seems to flood with what Eli thinks is relief. That someone saw it. The eye closes, determined, and for a moment, the peryton falters.


    It��s just enough, and Eli throws the beast from him. It staggers backwards but doesn��t go down, but it��s still enough for Eli to scramble to his own feet.


    ��Fight, you dumb bitch!�� Jake screams. He thrusts a hand forward, the black-green light of foul magic curling between his fingers, and��


    ��No!��


    Something bright and brilliant blue-white slashes through the air. Jake jumps back before it can hit his arm, and��


    ��Lacroix?��


    It is, too. Arthur Lacroix. He��s holding something in his hands, a Lacrosse stick. Except it��s glowing with the blue-white of Zoe��s magic.


    Jake sees it too. ��She made you a magic fucking weapon? No!�� He rakes the air with a hand, summoning a sickly green-black fireball. Arthur, star player of the Rosemont High Lacrosse team, knocks it aside easily with his crosse, the magics sparking and crackling as their conflicting energies clash.


    It��s all of the fight Eli gets to see. Whatever moment of clarity the ur-peryton had, it��s gone; the human subsumed once more beneath the corrupted magic of the beast. The thing roars, and lunges, and this time Eli dodges, raking it across the shoulder as it passes. It��s stronger and bigger than the other peryton he��s fought, but it��s still clumsy, and he��s still faster. So he uses that, darting around its attacks, leading it around the far side of the rec centre pool. Every now and again a clot of Jake��s balefire goes sizzling overhead, but most of the shouts are his, too, and Eli hopes that means Arthur is winning.


    The rain is still pelting down and it��s that that gives Eli an idea. The pool area is tiled and the ur-peryton��s awkward feet keep slipping in the wet, its claws too big and too clumsy to get a grip. There��s a garden bed on this side of the pool, and Eli��s currently trampling all the flowers, which he��ll feel bad for later. Mostly, though, he��s going for the garden hose.


    It extends from the outside wall of the rec centre, left lying across the tiles from whomever last used it. Eli crouches low to the ground, like he��s about to pounce, and the peryton roars and readies itself for the impact.


    Eli doesn��t pounce, though. Eli��s own claw is curled around the hose��s nozzle. He waits. Half a heartbeat. Then he pulls.


    The peryton is standing right on top of the hose��s length.


    It isn��t much, but the force of Eli��s yanking pulls the hose taught, lifting the ur-peryton��s right foot as it does. The peryton squawks, surprised and off-balance, as it stumbles one step, then two. Then, quite abruptly, there��s no more ground for it to stand on, and it tumbles into the pool.


    Eli doesn��t waste time, dropping the hose and leaping to the pool��s edge. When the peryton��s head breaks the water��s surface he��s ready for it, pushing it back down into the inky dark.


    If the peryton isn��t made for walking it really isn��t made for swimming. It thrashes, desperate, soaking Eli all over again with the salt-chlorine pool water. But he holds it down, muscles in his arms straining beneath the scales, and the beast never manages to resurface.


    ��I��m sorry,�� he tells it, as it gulps in huge lungfuls of water in its panic. ��I��m sorry I��m sorry I��m sorry I��m sorry.��


    And then, with one last, futile gasp, the beast falls still. As it does, its too-blue too-human eye looks up through the water at Eli, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he sees relief.


    When he stands, he sees Arthur watching him. ��Is it��?�� is as far as he gets. Because Arthur had thought he��d dealt with Jake, maybe, except he hadn��t been watching. And Jake surges upright now, emerging behind Arthur like a shadow.


    This time, he��s holding the gun.


    ��Move, and I blow his fucking brains out.�� He presses the gun��s barrel against Arthur��s temple.


    Arthur closes his eyes, resigned, and there��s a clatter and the zap of clean-blue magic as his battered crosse falls from his fingers to the tiles.


    ��Enough, Jake,�� Eli says. ��This is enough.��


    ��Fuck���� Jake starts, but Eli isn��t listening.


    Because he means it; this is enough. He feels that inside him, churning like a nebula, blazing like a star.


    Only the shyu����k, those who practice dark magics, have anything to fear from the k��a, Widow Adeline had told him. If your friend is shyu����yu, the fires should do her no harm.


    And Arthur��s only had one lesson for Zoe, but Eli hopes��prays, to whatever is listening out there in the void��that it��ll be enough.


    And so Eli reaches inside, and reaches out, and calls down the stars.


    The dragonfire, the xyl��k��a, doesn��t come from Eli��s mouth. He��s sort of . . . surprised about that. Maybe he doesn��t know much about dragons, but in everything he��s seen, they definitely breathe out the fire or ice or whatever.


    Eli does not. Eli��s k��a comes from the sky; a massive pillar of blinding pink-purple-blue, so bright it registers as white, that slams into Arthur and Jake. The latter screams, and even through the glare Eli can see the gun melt straight out of his hand. Melt straight through his hand, and Jake has one moment to stumble back, clutching his limb, before he collapses.


    When the dragonfire clears, a moment later, aftereffects glitters like falling stars between the rain, only Arthur is left standing.


    For a moment, he seems paralyzed. The he exhales, very big and very slow.


    ��I��m . . . alive?�� he says. Motes of glowing k��a cling to his hair and to his shoulders, twinkling like the stars.


    ��Only the shyu����k have anything to fear from the k��a,�� Eli repeats.


    ��Er, right,�� says Arthur. ��Sure.��


    He blinks, then seems to gather himself. He turns to look at Jake, crouching beside the boy��s crumpled body. ��He��s alive,�� he says, after a moment of taking Jake��s pulse. ��I . . . honestly, I��m not sure how I feel about that.��


    ��Yeah,�� agrees Eli. It��s not that he wants to have killed Jake, exactly, but . . .


    But.


    He��s about to say more, or maybe Arthur is, except they can hear the sirens now. Distant, beneath the rain, but getting closer.


    ��Zoe calls the cops,�� Arthur says, standing. ��And . . . and Morgan called Mom.��


    Eli rears up, spines bristling with uncertainty. He can��t let Lacroix catch him. Especially not now.


    Except, for the first time, it seems maybe Arthur is thinking the same thing. ��Go,�� he says. ��Go. I��ll . . . I��ll think of some cover story. I��ve fooled Mom before.��


    I know, Eli doesn��t say. ��Yeah,�� he does instead. ��Thanks.��


    Arthur just nods.


    Eli returns it, opens his mouth to say something, then realizes he has no idea what. So instead he rears up, opens his wings, and leaps off into the woods.

 “Everything is different now.”

    The Lyddans do show up, Zoe tells him later. With the cops and even an ambulance. The last Zoe saw, they��d been taking Jake away on a stretcher.


    From Aunt Addi, Eli learns the sheriff had found Jake��s grandmother. Dead in her trailer, hidden in the bedroom loft. By the timeline, she��d probably been Jake��s first victim. Eli tries not to think of a fading blue eye, watching him from beneath the water as its owner slowly drowned.


    No one (else) dies from the incident at the rec centre, although Lance and a few others get treated for burns. They��d tried to subdue Jake after Eli had saved Arthur, and Jake had unleashed balefire on them to escape. The whole thing gets written up as just another attempted mass shooting��just another day in America, nothing to see here��this one averted by the bravery and quick thinking of a room full of teens.


    ��It was cool, what you did with the lacrosse stick.�� Two days later. Eli��s at Zoe��s. They��re both sitting in the big couch-sized swing in her front yard, carefully supervised by Mr. Chung from the bay window in the den. Giving them space, but . . . watching. All the adults are on edge right now. Eli supposes he can��t blame them. He thinks his ribs are still bruised form Aunt Addi��s crushing hugs.


    ��Was it?�� Zoe says. She isn��t in cosplay today, just nebula-patterned leggings and a big chunky black sweater. Eli thinks she looks really nice. Zoe always looks really nice, but today it��s . . . even more. ��It felt kinda . . . shitty,�� Zoe continues. ��Like . . . like, I dunno. Un-feminist? Sending a Man����she pronounces the capital letter, voice pitching low portentously����to fight when I should��ve been able to do it myself.��


    Eli shrugs. ��Well, I mean . . . if you want to be, like, a combat witch you could, I dunno. Take martial arts classes or something? But I don��t think it��s a big deal. It��s not like you did nothing.�� By the time the sheriff had arrived, they��d found the kids separated into three groups, hiding in three different locations. Zoe had organized that, and she and Morgan and Lance had each lead one of the groups, doing headcount and keeping everyone calm. Aunt Addi had been impressed. People panic, she��d told Eli. And they get hurt. Run wildly into the woods and fall down gullies and break their legs, that sort of thing. Zoe and your friends really helped a lot.


    Zoe nods, bitting her lip, and they just swing there for a little while. The rain hasn��t quite cleared but the swing is under a kind of gazebo thing the Chungs�� use for barbecues, so they aren��t getting wet. Eli likes sitting under cover, watching the rain. It feels . . . clean.


    ��I keep thinking about Jake,�� Zoe says. ��About . . . the things he said.��Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ��Don��t . . . I mean. He was just talking shit. Don��t take it, like. Personally.��


    ��He would say things sometimes, y��know? Like, I dunno. Dumb shit about movies or whatever. And I��d kinda roll my eyes, and think, ��Ugh, whatever Jake.�� That��s . . . that��s why I though you were so awesome, y��know? Because you didn��t do that.��


    ��Oh, I see how it is,�� Eli says. ��You thought I was awesome. Past tense.�� He keeps his voice light to show he��s joking, and Zoe sticks out her tongue and bumps sideways like she��s trying to push him off the swing. Eli pushes back, and for a moment they��re just wrestling and giggling and it��s almost like it��s okay.


    Almost.


    It doesn��t last.


    ��I knew he had a crush on me,�� Zoe adds, when things have calmed down. She��s ended up with her head on Eli��s shoulder and his arm around hers. It��s nice. She��s warm and soft and the closeness feels . . . good. ��I mean, he wasn��t, like. Subtle about it. But I don��t . . .�� She stops, and it feels A Moment. Like Zoe��s about to say something she��s never said out loud before.


    ��But I don��t like boys,�� is what comes out. ��Not in that way.��


    ��Oh.�� That . . . Okay. That actually hadn��t been what Eli had been expecting. He wonders if he should move his arm except . . . Zoe isn��t moving, so . . . maybe it��s okay? It doesn��t have to be Like That. It can just be . . . okay.


    ��That��s cool,�� he says, because it is. Not what he��d been expecting, and not what . . . he��d been wanting? Maybe? But it��s Zoe. So it��s cool.


    ��I��ve never told anyone that before. Not even, like, online.��


    ��Well. Thanks for telling me.��


    ��Thanks for being cool about it.��


    ��Man, Zee. You were totally cool about me turning into a dragon. I think I kinda owe you this one, huh?��


    Zoe just laughs, and pokes him in the stomach.


    ��Everything is different now,�� she says eventually. ��With you, and me . . . even Arthur and Morgan.��


    ��Yeah.�� Eli still isn��t sure if Arthur realizes he��s the dragon. Arthur hasn��t mentioned anything, and Eli hasn��t had the courage to ask. On the other hand, he doesn��t have Lacroix busting down his door trying to drag him off to, like, dragon jail. So . . . maybe things will be all right.


    ��Everything��s always different, though,�� Eli says. ��Like, every day. That��s like, life. Or whatever.��


    ��Ooh, look at Mr. Philosophy here.��


    ��I mean, I��m pretty sure I heard that in a video game,�� Eli adds, grinning. ��But, y��know. Sure.��


    ��We��re going to be okay,�� Zoe says. Not a question. More like an oath. ��We��re a dragon and a witch! Whatever else happens, we��ll kick its butt together. And we��ll be okay.��


    Eli leans back against the cushions of the swing. ��Yeah,�� he says. ��You��d better believe it.��


    Out beyond the edge of the gazebo, above the treeline, Eli can see the clouds. They hang heavy and grey. Obscuring and all-consuming. But beyond them, Eli knows, lie the stars; bright and crisp and clean with their ageless swirling fire. And for a long time, he sits there with Zoe, and imagines himself counting every single one.