piece of Pop-Tart into his mouth and licked each of fingers.
“Right skan cuisine,” he murmured contentedly, unphased that the food I had found in the bottom of my backpack had no known age. I had found a rogue granola bar in a side pocket and was pretty happy myself.
“Mom says I have hip-po-gly-seee-mee-uh,” I explained as I chewed, pronouncing the word carefully with little confidence.
“Hypoglycemia, a common ailment in the female species,” Dragon cocked his head as he studied me. “A possible weakness unaccounted for. Hmm.”
“Possible weakness for what?”
I knew there was something they weren’t telling me.
“What is it, guys? Espionage? Spelunking? Eh?” I nudged Baert in the ribs.
He spun around, his tiny eyes glaring red as he flared his nostrils.
“Oh, do calm yourself, you tiny angry thing! Humans use jocular contact for camaraderie,” Dragon sputtered at the angry elf.
“Now,” Dragon cleared his throat. “We must focus once more. Our task has pivoted, slightly.”
The sudden severity of his tone made my body stiffen. I fidgeted with the granola bar wrapper.
“We require bravery only, Evechild. Nothing to be fearful of.”
This statement didn’t calm me at al. I surveyed Dragon flipping through a book. Who could read at time like this? And where had Dragon been keeping a book? It wasn’t Fortis Librae.
Dragon grinned.
“Your incredulous questions are really so entertaining, Evechild,” he chuckled to himself. “Eve. Really such a formal name, even though so short. Do you carry a nick moniker?”
“A nick what? Oh, you mean a nick name?” I giggled. “Egg! Oh, I mean, gosh. I hate that name though! Please don’t call me Egg!”
‘Ye’ve got eggs?” Baert came jogging over, his wide eyes swollen and red, his little hand loudly itching at his neck.
I giggled and then gasped, surveying Baert covered in head-to-weird-elf-shoe-things with hives.
Baert looked down, embarrassed, as he offered his other hand out. He held an empty Nutter Butter box.
“I swiped it as we done left, lassie. ‘Twas just sitting o’the counter, its glorious red encasings so right skan,” he cried woefully.
Dragon paid no mind to Baert’s questionable medical condition. He just knelt and leaned down, letting his wings fall forward. I bent down and fiddled with a shoelace, uncertain what this posture from Dragon meant. Baert apparently knew, for the swollen little elf used me as a step stool and launched himself high onto Dragon’s back.
“Upon wit’t, Lassie!” cried Baert, digging his heels into the sides of Dragon’s neck like a cowboy eliciting a trot from his horse.
Dragon snorted in irritation.
I awkwardly climbed up, worried I would hurt him if I stepped on any one place with all of my body weight. I kind of slithered up his wing and flattened myself upon his shoulder blade and then sort of army-crawled to the center of his back behind Baert.
“Ye done, then? Need a spot o’tea or a wee biscuit?” Baert said, clearly mocking the extra time it was taking me to get settled.
“I’m just not used to it,” I muttered.
With a swift hop-hop-jump, Dragon launched to the clouds. My arms went around Baert. He smelled like old potatoes and peanut butter. I clenched my eyes shut and sang Beatles songs in my head to find either calm or a distraction or both.
Maybe three songs later (including the full reprise of Yellow Submarine), the wind’s force against my body lessened. We were landing. Dragon glided down into an open field where a single air strip lay. He hit the ground smoothly and began to trot toward a small cargo plane. It’s cockpit door popped open and a man stuck a waving arm out. An arm clad in leather.
“I knew it! Uncle Seb! It was you!” I called.
“O’course it’s he,” Baert said crankily.
“Pay no mind to him, Evechild,” Dragon said quietly as I slid off his back. “Baert doesn’t take to flying well, and his skin condition, I suspect, is not helping his temperament.”
Dragon straightened as my uncle approached.
“And now, for the next flight on our journey!”
“Next flight?” I repeated.
“She’s aaaallll ready for you, Egg!” my uncle said, holding his palm out for a hi-five. Whatever my face did must have embarrassed him. He coughed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Uncle Seb turned and jogged back to the plane. So much for pleasantries, I thought, a little annoyed. What about how’s your mom? Or sorry I haven’t seen you in a few years? I shook off these unproductive thoughts and followed after him, curiosity again winning.
Dragon walked with me to my uncle’s Stinson, a white late-model turboprop plane with curious propellors and a red stripe running the length of it. Uncle Seb’s jaw was clenched. He silently lifted me up into the cockpit, and then Baert. The elf dutifully scurried behind the pilot seats and, after buckling himself into one of the small jumpseats, hugged his knees into his chest and gave us a thumbs up.
“I can do it,” I squirmed away from Dragon who was trying to help me with the buckles. He kept his talon on my arm for an uncomfortably long time. And as he trotted away, he looked over his scaly shoulder back at me.
“I’ll be right beside you, the whole time. And remember, once we’ve passed through, you can’t let them know you’re down there, Egg,”
I winced hearing that nickname. I had never loved it, but it had never bothered me so much before. But then, I had never had a dragon around me before. I discovered I respected this dragon. I think he might even be my friend? I had so few that I wasn’t all together certain what the requirements were for designating someone as Friend. For the first time in my seemingly mundane life, I found myself actually admiring someone – do I call Dragon a someone? – and desperately wanting his respect in return. And being called Egg didn’t really seem to command respect. Or authority. Or fear. Oh man, is that what I want? To be feared? I made a mental note to examine this idea about myself later. Mom was always rambling about the importance of self-discovery and introspection and self-awareness blah blah blah … She would be so pleased. I giggled to myself.
“Are you entertained down there, Egg?”
That name again! But the tone smacked of annoyance this time rather than compassion. I shrugged and slumped forward, hugging my knees against my chest and wondering why I was called Egg. In the recesses of my memories I could recall voices laughing, a very young me in green bunny jammies peering through the railing of a short staircase … I still can’t believe you have a kid! … more laughter … You named her Eve Gwendolyn Genevieve without considering her initials? E.G.G.? Eggy?! Egg! … more laughter and then my mother’s voice … It’s perfect! Like those eggs you have to keep alive for that ridiculous school project they’d make you do to teach you to take care of babies or something ... And now another male voice … But didn’t you drop yours? Twice? … And an eruption of laughter.
I frowned. I had remembered this dialogue with a certain degree of whimsy, but it didn’t seem so good-natured now. My mom was always so quick with a smart retort, but increasingly I saw more sadness in her smiling eyes.
I snapped out of this reverie as my uncle reached a gloved hand onto the top of my head. It was oddly soothing. I relaxed and uncoiled a bit.
“Whatcha thinking about?” he asked.
“My mom.”
His face hardened. I hadn’t meant my response to be damning.
“No time for that now,” he said. “Just in case, unbuckle and slide down there, yeah, like that. Can you fit? Good. Stay scarce.” He gave me a thumbs up (which cued Baert to stick his small hand through the two seats and do the same. I giggled.) Then he added again, “Just in case.”
He was a terrifically calm pilot. Distant memories of me on my mom’s lap in this very plane danced into my mind. I remembered his tight, dark beard and his leather jacket. He cocked his head side to side, popping his neck as he rolled back muscular shoulders and settled into a familiar but alert posture. I watched him closely, observing his eyes narrow with concern or relax with easy flying. His hands danced artfully across the primary flight display and mode control panel. I knew how to watch the heading, altitude, and vertical speed. I knew not to grab the joystick or risk my hand getting slapped again. Seb – Sebastian, more formally, or when my mom was irritated with him – had been flying for as long as I knew, typically just cargo planes. I never knew what he delivered, what he was carrying. Do I dare ask?
“We’re going to cloak now,” Uncle Seb said suddenly in a fierce whisper.
I started to giggle, but then saw that he was serious. My eyes widened. Cloak?! That was a real thing?
Of course it’s a real thing. You don’t think Hollywood writers are really that clever and imaginative to come up with such a fantastic concept!
I recognized that voice. Dragon!
From my cramped spot I caught a glimpse of those magnificent scales gliding alongside the pilot’s side window. Dragon’s head turned toward me, and he shot me a wink.
Seb tightened his grip on the small yoke and narrowed his gaze.
“We can discuss this all you want later. Now …” he clenched his teeth and held his hand poised over a small instrument cluster under the rest of the paneled gauges and buttons near his right knee.
“NOW!” he barked. Dragon disappeared. I let out a tiny shriek and ducked my head into my chest, wrapping my arms around my face. What is happening? There was an intense buzzing that seemed heavy against my eardrums, a kind of pressure that made my heartbeat increase outrageously. The buzzing seemed to get louder, boring into my brain, like an atrocious ringing getting closer and closer and closer and then … nothing.
Pure silence.
I pulled my hands away from my head, suddenly conscious of the absurd amount of sweat pooling off my forehead into my eyes. I blinked, my breathing erratic. I couldn’t make sense of what had happened, of what was happening. It was hard to focus.
“Drink this.” Uncle Seb dropped a bottle of water onto the seat above me. “First time is always a bit jolting.”
“First time for what?” I finally gasped.
“Cloaking. Dragon technology. Your cells are scattered and bent around light, thanks to the electromagnetic spectrum,” Uncle Seb said, staying alarmingly nonchalant. He looked up and nodded, giving me another thumbs-up.
Scales flashed outside.
“Dinnae confuse thah child.” Baert tumbled forward, burping and coughing. “We are here.”
I didn’t have time to nurse my indignation over being called a child. I sat up and peered over the mass of instrumentation. The small plane hovered in the air. The windshield was opaque with frost. We must have gone quite high in elevation to make the windows so icy. I pulled my sleeve over my fist and wiped a small circle.
My mouth dropped open.
What. Is. THAT.