A Dragon's Guide to the Care and Feeding of Humans Page 7

  It was risky to leave my double on the loose for many reasons, including the Agreement, but it was even riskier not to hear what she knew about the pemburu. “If we let you go, will you promise to leave the country?”

  “Yes, yes.” My twin gave a shudder. “Anything’s better than returning to the book.”

  I lowered my paws. “Very well, then. If you’ll tell me the secret, I swear on my honor that you will be free to go.”

  “I’ll leave.” Her elegant shoulders sagged in defeat. “What choice do I have?”

  Winnie kept the book carefully aimed at her. “So what about the pemburu?”

  My twin licked her snout with a forked tongue as exquisite as mine. “The pemburu from the sketchbook grows larger and more powerful as it eats magic.”

  “What?” Winnie and I both said, shocked.

  My twin had actually been crouching, waiting for the moment when this news would distract my pet and me. The next instant, she sprang, her powerful hind legs carrying her toward Winnie. There were pots and pans hanging from a rack suspended from the ceiling. They bonged and clanked as the scoundrel’s head knocked against them.

  She may have promised to leave the country, but she hadn’t said anything about what she would do before she left—like trapping me in the book and taking it on her travels.

  Any other human would have stood there frozen until the book was snatched from her. But Winnie was too quick-witted for that.

  She threw herself forward and onto her back, sliding across the slippery tiles and under the leaping imitator’s body and deadly hind paws. Rolling over on her side, she leaned on one elbow as she turned the book toward my twin.

  “Now!” Winnie cried.

  “I’ll fix you, you brat!” My double sprang again, deadly claws stretching for Winnie, but the brave girl didn’t flinch. She kept turning the open book so the pages could track her prey.

  I broke all records saying the spell. My twin froze in midleap and began to shrink as she traveled through the air.

  “No, no, don’t send me back!” she cried, her voice growing higher and tinier with each moment until, with a zipping sound, she was caught on the page in the act of pouncing. I was glad she was as trim and slender as I was because she barely fit into the space as it was. Any larger and the book might not have been able to contain her.

  Winnie rested her head against the tiles as she shut the book. “Whew, that was close.”

  I rose up to my full height, and I straightened my neck until my head brushed the high ceiling. I towered imposingly above her and looked her straight in the eyes. “Why didn’t you say that you sketched me?”

  She swallowed nervously as she stared up at me. “I finally worked up the nerve to tell you over lunch. But now it’s too late. So”—her voice trembled ever so slightly—“are you mad?”

  I relented. “Even if she was a copy, that sketchling’s claws were sharp enough. It took a brave person to face her. So no, I’m not really angry.” I added, “But you’re still a goose.”

  “At least I’m a live goose,” Winnie said.

  I bent over and helped her to her feet. “How did you know I was the real Miss Drake?”

  “It was her ‘Be a dear,’ ” Winnie explained. “I knew a grouch like you would never say anything that icky.”

  “I think,” I corrected, “you meant to say she lacked my fierce, independent spirit.”

  Winnie grinned. “Why don’t you just admit that you’re cranky?”

  “I am not cranky,” I sniffed. “I simply give you the benefit of my wisdom.”

  Winnie stowed the book back in the bag. “Well, can your wisdom tell if the fake Miss Drake was lying about the pemburu? Or do you think it really grows every time it eats magic?”

  “For the moment, I think we have to assume that it does,” I said. “It’s too dangerous to ignore the warning.”

  “But even the fake Miss Drake was afraid of it, and she was your size,” Winnie said, troubled. “Shouldn’t you be afraid too?”

  “If we can catch it before it eats too much, I should be safe enough,” I assured her, but my stomach began to knot up with fear.

  “And if we can’t?” Winnie demanded.

  I shrugged. “Then no one in San Francisco is safe.”

  And if I were a hungry pemburu, where would I go …?

  Winnie gnawed at her lip in frustration. “It could be anywhere in the city.”

  The horrifying truth slowly dawned on me. “Not just anywhere. The pemburu is a glutton. It will go where there’s the most magic to eat.”

  Winnie wheeled around as she understood. “You mean …?”

  “Yes,” I said grimly, already heading for the door, “the Enchanters’ Fair—where there’s enough magic for the pemburu to grow as big as a mountain.”

  Winnie gave a low whistle. “And then flatten San Francisco.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A bright pet is easily distracted at gatherings large and small. A watchful eye and a quick paw will keep your pet from wandering far.

  The Enchanters’ Fair was held in a hilltop park in the western part of the city. In the nineteenth century, it had been a cemetery near a remote tip of the San Francisco peninsula. Except for the occasional ghost playing pranks, there were few visitors, and it had given magicals the privacy to display their talents in peace and see who was the most powerful.

  But when the city had grown, the bodies were moved south to Colma, and the hilltop was converted into a neighborhood park. The Fair had also grown in size and scope so magicals could have fun with all sorts of races, contests, and shopping.

  As we neared the Fair, a magical fog covered the hill like cotton batting. Thanks to spells that kept it hidden from prying eyes and ears—even more powerful than the one that kept me invisible—no natural could see what was going on. Much more powerful spells kept naturals from wandering into the park today.

  “Are you sure it’s here?” Winnie yelled from her perch on my back.

  “As sure as that ridiculously tiny snout on your face,” I said as I began to descend. “I founded the Fair, didn’t I?”

  Just in case any fairgoer was watching me, I landed light as a ginkgo leaf on the sidewalk. In the thick mist, I could barely see the set of steps leading into the park.

  I wish there had been time to give my scales a good burnishing, but if wishes were horses and so on.

  As soon as Winnie had dismounted, she ran around in front of me. “What’s wrong with my nose?” she demanded.

  “Nothing that a little stretching couldn’t help.” I swung my mouth close to her ear and whispered, “But this is no time to be vain. Remember why we’re here. If we’re in luck, we’ll catch the pemburu before it can do any more harm.”

  Sefa Bubbles knew how much I liked my elevenses, so years ago she had made a cunning pouch and attached it to my leg armor. The pouch’s surface looked just like the real scales underneath it. I used to keep emergency snacks in it, but I’d found it was a convenient size for my cell phone.

  I slipped it out now and checked it, but there was no text from Reynard yet. I had let him know what we were told about the pemburu to see if he could verify the tale. I could trust my geek friend to learn anything about anybody in some Internet cranny or other.

  Together, Winnie and I mounted the damp steps. At the very top, the fog suddenly rippled as if a door had opened in the gray cloud. Through the opening, we could see magicals promenading about.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Drake,” Cullen said. All six and a half feet of him were packed with muscle, and his thick brown beard was decorated with small flowers.

  He ran a nursery down in San Mateo and was one of the gentlest creatures until he gave himself over to his berserker’s madness—the Rage, he called it. Then he was 350 pounds of killing fury almost impossible to stop.

  As Marshal of the Fair, he had traded his rake for his ancient spear. The dark wooden shaft of the huge weapon was as thick as most humans’ arms and decor
ated with runes of power. The blade was a foot long and shaped like a leaf, tapering to a point that Cullen claimed could cut the wind.

  “We weren’t sure you were coming,” he said.

  “I couldn’t stay away after all,” I told him. “This is my companion, Winnie.”

  Cullen leaned over to inspect her. “She looks like a biter. Has she had her shots?”

  “Who are you—?” Winnie began indignantly.

  I clamped a paw firmly over Winnie’s mouth. “I’ll answer for her behavior.”

  Cullen straightened. “Be it on your head, then, Miss Drake.”

  “Come along, Winnie, dear,” I said through gritted fangs, and dragged her across the threshold of the barrier. “Rule number one for the Fair: Only pick fights you know you can win.”

  I stopped short. One whiff and I knew I had left behind the humdrum world outside. The pungent cinnamon of Serendip tickled my nostrils at the same time that honey cake from Araby soothed them. With so many magicals in one place, the very air crackled with power and made my scales tingle. A day at the Fair could leave a dragon feeling two centuries younger.

  I was glad I had come, and even more glad I could show it to Winnie. After all, this was now her world too.

  For once, Winnie was at a loss for words as we entered the bazaar. Merchants came from near and very, very far away to sell and trade here. Dust-colored djinns displayed their gems of power on floating carpets. Nigerian weavers sat at special looms blending spells and threads together into cloaks that would both stay dry in the rain and turn back any weapon. A jaguar shape-shifter transformed into amusing caricatures of his audience and then passed a bowl around for tips.

  There were, of course, your usual groups of fire-eaters, sword swallowers, wand jugglers, dancing salamanders, synchronized flying pigs, and other entertainers.

  “Fancy a treat?” I pointed a claw at a food booth where Kleodora the Siren was selling sun-gold apples dipped in Hyrcanian honey. The sight of them made me think of Fluffy again—she wouldn’t leave the Fair each year before eating one, or even two, of them.

  “What do the apples do?” Winnie asked as we headed toward the booth.

  “They fill you up,” I said. “Sometimes an apple is just an apple.” But they were a very tasty treat as we began our search for the pemburu.

  We ate them as we patrolled the Fair. Naturally Clipper was there with a selection of her favorite teas, silks, and sweets. A small tambour and fife floated in the air before her booth, playing a spritely jig. She had just sold some shampoo to a slothlike creature with moss growing in its fur.

  Britomart stood guard in armor so shiny that it reflected the lights of the Fair like miniature suns. Her battle-ax, sharpened to a keen edge, was even shinier. She nodded to me as we walked over. “Glad you came, Miss Drake. It wouldn’t be a proper Fair without you. Clipper thought you might change your mind, and she picked out a real nice prize for you when you win the Spelling Bee.”

  I felt a little pang of regret. Clipper always donated an exquisite tiara to the contest, but I had to keep to my true purpose. Leaning forward, I asked softly, “Anything unusual at the Fair?”

  “Not a sign of a kobold or drought demon.” Clipper grinned, misunderstanding. “Nor any ruckus reported … so far.”

  “That sketchbook—” Winnie began.

  “Was of exceptionally fine quality,” I cut her off. “You said you found it in a trunk. Do you know who the owner was?”

  Clipper shook her head. “But he or she must have been a pack rat. There were all sorts of odds and ends in there. And I can’t make heads or tails of any of them.”

  Clipper had an encyclopedic knowledge of magical paraphernalia and apparatuses. The items must be very obscure if she couldn’t understand their purpose. But if they had wards as strong as the sketchbook’s, they could be objects of power. I’d warn her later, after we dealt with the pemburu. With Reynard’s help, I would identify the objects Clipper had and make sure they caused no harm.

  “That pemburu of yours,” I said as casually as I could. “What does it eat?”

  “Magic,” Clipper said. “That’s why it’s so good at detecting it. The collar keeps it from eating anything, though.” She saw Winnie’s frightened face. “But don’t worry. When the shop closes, we feed it lots of lovely little magical scraps.”

  “And how big would it grow?” I asked.

  Clipper pursed her lips. “I think I’ve heard about them growing as big as a basketball before they popped.”

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief because my double had been telling only half the truth.

  There was a series of whistling roars from overhead, and I pointed so Winnie would see. Sam the Griffin whipped past, followed by Bergen, who liked to show off his wizardry. Today he was flying in a huge iron cauldron.

  “I didn’t think we’d be able to catch the flying races,” I said, pleased. Flying with wings or by magic, the colorful contestants always delighted the crowds as they sought the Flying Dutchman Trophy.

  Clipper raised her head. “This is the last heat before the actual race. Sam seems in good form, but my money’s on Rhiannon. I saw her in an earlier heat. She was on a winged stallion that’s a regular terror.”

  Rhiannon owned a stable and took care of naturals’ regular horses as well as magicals’ mounts.

  “Let’s hope the owner of the stallion never finds out,” I said.

  Clipper grinned. “Rhiannon will claim she was just exercising the beast.”

  I laughed. “That sounds like her.” Bidding them good-bye, we walked away, but we hadn’t gone more than four stalls when I heard the sound of a tiny hunting trumpet from my phone—the signal that Reynard had sent me a message, a text, and an email too. My old friend had done his research, and the news wasn’t good. Flashing on and off on the screen were the words:

  Big trouble!

  Big Trouble!

  BIG TROUBLE!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Train your pet how to behave when meeting strangers and their pets. No fighting, no biting, please!

  “What’s wrong?” Winnie asked when she saw my face.

  “Let me check,” I said, and opened the email. Reynard had attached scans of two old drawings of pemburus to his email. One was the harmless common variety like Clipper’s. It would eat magic until its belly burst. The other was a rare species not seen in thousands of years. It was rumored to be a real monster with an unusual appetite for magic. And it would keep growing as it ate!

  I held the screen so Winnie could see too. Both had the same shape, but their colors were slightly different. I remembered the common one from Clipper’s shop.

  “That one looks like mine,” she said, pointing to the other beast. “My green pencil broke, so I improvised with purple.”

  “Next time find the pencil sharpener,” I told her.

  So my double had been telling the whole truth after all. The pemburu at large was rare and ravenous for magic. No collar, if Winnie had even thought to draw one, would keep its appetite at bay. So rare, no one here had probably run across its like. Unless we caught it before it grew too large, vanquishing it would be a challenge.

  I texted back to my friend: Bad luck … it’s the troublemaker.

  And just as we turned down a new aisle, we had our first sign that the pemburu was indeed here.

  A sorceress pointed at her pet gargoyle on its leash. Its body was as streamlined as a whippet, but it had a froglike head. “Ermintrude did not take a bite out of your cape.”

  “Your pet came sniffing at me.” An angry dwarf held up a green cape with silver stars. There was a huge piece missing from the bottom. “And the next moment, I’m missing half of it.”

  Even if she had not been in her trademark purple velvet gown and black cloak, I would have recognized Silana just from the haughty way she curled her lip—dear Silana believed that manners were something everyone but she should have. “Sir, my Ermintrude would never eat an inferior weave such as t
hat.”

  “Inferior?” the dwarf sputtered. “This is the finest invisible cape gold can buy.”

  The Fair is supposed to be a time of peace, but that doesn’t mean feuds haven’t started there. Whether it was Ermintrude or the pemburu who had stolen a snack, I thought I’d better step in.

  “Gentle sir and gentle lady,” I said, mentally crossing my claws when I used the latter term for Silana, “it would be a shame to spoil the day with a quarrel. As I am one of the founders of the Fair, it is my duty to preserve the spirit of amity and goodwill. So … what is your name, sir?” I glanced at the dwarf.

  “Guntram,” he said.

  “Well, Guntram, please go to Clipper’s booth and charge a new invisible cape to my account,” I said.

  “Clipper’s, is it?” The dwarf rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “Now that’s real high-class stuff.”

  As Guntram waddled off happily, Silana turned to me, trying to smile as politely as she could. “Ah, Miss Drake, and how are you going to beguile the judges this year?”

  I wanted Silana to direct her anger at me rather than at the dwarf. I could defend myself against her spells, but the dwarf would find himself with green skin and a taste for flies.

  “Oh,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I could, “I thought I’d let someone else win this year.”

  Silana was almost too easy to tease. She began to fizz like a shaken-up bottle of soda. “LET someone else win!” She looked down when she heard the clinking sound. “Stop that!”

  Winnie was rapping her knuckle against Ermintrude’s forehead. “Hey, she’s hollow inside.”

  I caught Winnie’s wrist. Gargoyles are slow to react, but there was just the chance Ermintrude was feeling peckish, and a human hand would have made as good a snack as a cape. “You should always ask the owner’s permission before you touch her gargoyle.”

  Silana tightened the leash, and Ermintrude whimpered as she was jerked closer to her mistress. “This urchin belongs to you?”