mysteriously absent from all the to-do in the kitchen, was now at the back door, his muscled silhouette filling the entirety of the door. I ordered Baert to hold a kitchen towel full of ice-cubes on his now less-swollen face, and I moved a vase of lavender sprigs from the little windowsill over the sink to rest near Philippa’s head. My thinking here was that the lavender would act as smelling salts and lull my sister out of her swoon. Then she would be distracted by the pleasant aroma of the lavender and probably start rambling about making lavender scones or something ridiculous/delicious, and I would swiftly grab Baert and get the hell out of that kitchen.
None of that happened.
The second I moved toward the door to let in Dragon, I heard Philippa scream again, Baert yelp, then Philippa shriek, then back to Baert. I spun around to witness Philippa and Baert alternately slapping each other on the face. What?
Philippa, sitting upright, was about the same height as the standing elf. Seeing Baert for the first time, her instinct apparently was to slap the side of his face. Baert, stunned for a split second, reacted in kind and slapped her back. Slap! *scream* Slap! *scream* Slap! *scream*
“You guys!” I yelled at them. They stopped, both of them with slapping hands in midair, and looked at me, dumbfounded. “Just … just … stop.”
My eloquence failed me in this very weird moment. My sister, who had passed out after seeing an elf in anaphylactic shock, was now slapping said elf. And I was opening the kitchen door to allow a dragon to enter. My life is either insanely messed up or insanely awesome: I couldn’t decide which in this moment.
“Oh! Oh, Evechild, why, yes, why, that is, hello,” Dragon was uncharacteristically bewildered the door swung open wide. Bowing, I made a mocking gesture of entry with my arm.
“Welcome to the shitshow,” I mumbled.
“Eve! Language!” Philippa barked at me, then quickly hit Baert with another slap.
That was all the elf could handle. He threw the ice-bound towel at her and stood up angrily. Pivoting on one foot, he brought his fists up in front of him like I had seen old-timey boxers do in movies. His eyes glared red.
“That’s it!” Baert snarled, prancing in front of Philippa, his fists dancing up and down in front of his face.
Philippa stood in front of him, her head cocked thoughtfully. I think we all wondered if she would swing back or turn and run. With this duo at one end of the kitchen and Dragon at the other, I didn’t know which scene to tend to. The less stressful one won, and I spun back around to Dragon. At least, I had thought he would be the less stressful one.
“So, really, I’ve just had the most engaging conversation with your mother!” Dragon announced timidly. His wings fluttered a bit at his sides and his talons fidgeted nervously in front of his toned, scaly chest.
The boisterous antics in the kitchen ceased altogether at that moment. My eyes widened, and I turned, slowly, to stare at Dragon in disbelief. Baert stopped mid-swing and turned to stare at Dragon in disbelief. And Philippa turned to finally see a dragon in her kitchen. And, of course, she screamed. Again. And again. And again. In disbelief.
Yes, keep screaming, I thought, feeling a new brand of overwhelm. What else would my sister do?
I caught Dragon frowning at me in disappointment. I reddened and looked away, embarrassed by my cynical thoughts. I walked over to Philippa and grabbed her by the arms tightly.
“Philippa,” I said sternly. “I know this is all … wacky or whatever … But I, I mean, you, you are safe,” I stammered, uncertain what exactly to say to my very predictable sister who was encountering a European Arrowtail and an angry ancient elf of the Scottish Guard in her own kitchen.
She just cried more, shaking her head rapidly back and forth. Her mouth was open, but barely any sound was coming out. I couldn’t believe, watching this display, that I was the one called dramatic around this house.
“Philippa! Snap out of it! You’re fine!” I yelled at her as I shook her back and forth. After what felt like an hour, she finally spoke.
“You made me spill my smoothie,” she sniffed.
“Oh. My. GOD.”
I yelled each word at her. Before I could continue, a talon whisked me back and onto the cool tile of the kitchen floor.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Dragon said hastily to Philippa. “I am Drahkundvalaev, a European Arrowtail and High Guard of –”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, his name is Dragon and he’s magical or something and travels through space,” I cut him off brusquely.
“I also speak 138 languages, am the sworn sentinel of the galaxy’s mammalian and reptilian species, and hold the universe’s record for bocce ball, but yes, you’ve summarized me thusly,” Dragon pouted, muttering under his breath other accolades and accomplishments. He fidgeted with something under his wing.
Baert was quiet. He fetched some nearly melted ice cubes and was again nursing his red cheeks, swollen this time from the slapping war between Philippa and him.
“Aye, Lassie, ye best be ready to set off again,” he said, slowly but excitedly.
I jumped up and started moving backward away from them. I felt my chest tighten and my breathing quicken.
“No, no, no,” I said quietly, still inching backward. My backside the back of the sofa. The sofa creaked against the side table. The side table shook the giant blue lapis lazuli lamp. The lamp swung around and fell with a fantastic shriek of glass breaking all over the floor.
“No, no, no,” I said again, but more loudly, as I stepped carefully over the lamp’s shreds, feeling my way with my hands.
“Evechild, just breathe,” Dragon said. “We must only do what’s done already.”
“Aye, to thah plane!”
I just shook my head. Dragon knew better than to try to move toward me. Baert, on the other hand, was not so insightful. He darted toward me. I gave chase. He tripped. I fell over him. He scrambled up and placed his foot on my belly like a victorious hunter posing with his trophy kill. He looked up at Dragon, who frowned. Baert’s head dropped and, with a loud sigh, he slumped down. Sitting. On ME.
“Ugh! Baert!” I squirmed under his bony backside, “I can’t! I’ve not even processed the morning; I – I can’t go back there. Not right now. I don’t actually want this” I stammered, angry that tears were forming. “Any of it! None of it! I got the adventure, and I’m so grateful to have met you and to know an actual dragon, and now,” I panted, trying to catch my breath, “now I just don’t want any of this. You got the wrong girl. There has to be a mermaid or a hobbit or a dwarf or something you can call upon.”
“A dwarf!” Baert snorted. “Like we could ever get a dwarf in that tiny airplane!”
I floundered around on the ground, finally freeing myself from Baert, who toppled forward.
“Egg. Evechild. Eve Archer. Listen to me. Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness thrust upon them!” Dragon pounded his jewel-toned fist against his chest and thumped his spiny tail grandly to accent this last phrase, only to be met by Baert’s loud sigh and slow eye roll.
“Aye, again with the Bard,” Baert said. “We get it, ye love thah English.”
“Um, excuse me?” Philippa’s feeble voice came from the kitchen where she was still frozen in place, watching this strange scene unfold.
Seeing her standing there looking so very confused and terrified, with broken glass and spilled smoothie all over, softened my heart. I maybe even pitied her a bit, her cream sweater splattered with green, her hands folded on one another while her fingers timidly played with the buttons on the carefully folded cuffs of her blouse.
“Philippa, meet Dragon and Baert. They’re, like, a billion years old, and I guess we’re all going to save the universe.”
We just looked at each other for a while. We seemed staged, Philippa in front of me, Baert again to my left, Dragon still to my right.
“In that case, let us fetch The Book,” Dragon said with a wink.