Coffee With Dragons

Quentin

I cling to my hot chocolate like my life depends on it. I’ve had three coffees this morning, and Arlo cut me off after I nearly paced a hole in the floor. After a sleepless night spent dissecting the chaos that is my life, I decided to come clean to Arlo about Carina this morning. Not because I want help with my job, but because it’s proof that the anti-witch rhetoric is becoming a real threat that won’t go away on its own.

The booth is cleaned out, all traces of Arlo’s research nest have been moved to Witch House. We sit there together, hidden away from the rest of the cafe. Silas no longer works full time since he goes to school at the castle, so he and Felix are free to do what they like on the weekends. Today, that means playing video games until their brains become soup. Considering how stressful things have been, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. They need to be kids.

Arlo holds onto his mug as tightly as I do mine, and he stares at the table while he thinks. Eventually, he asks, “Do you want your job back?”

I blow out a long breath. “Yes, and no. Obviously the administration is in Carina’s pocket. I don’t want to work for people like that. But at the same time, I feel bad for the kids. Is this what they’re going to do, fire problematic teachers first, then change the curriculum entirely? What are they trying to achieve?”

Arlo sighs, tugging at the gauge in his ear. “What a nightmare. I never went there, but back in the day I always heard good things about it. Julianna’s kids go there.”

“Yeah?” I smile a little at the sound of Arlo casually talking about the mayor’s kids. “You know, I remember seeing you on the news, when she first called you the Defender of Levena.”

He laughs bitterly. “I forget how young you are sometimes.”

“Shut up.” I pause, wondering if Elochian thinks I’m young. He’s even older than Arlo is, although I’m not really sure how much. “Speaking of, do you by chance know how old Elochian is?”

Arlo’s brow lifts, and the sass in it is unparalleled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Arlo, please, for the love of Artune, help me out here.”

He smiles a little. “Fine, if only because it’s you. He’s a hundred and seventy. Or a hundred and eighty … I can’t remember, but one of the two.”

“Oh,” I say faintly. “Oh.”

Arlo winks at me, then goes back to drinking his coffee. I stare off into space, wondering why the fuck I like impossible men. After a moment, I return my attention to the impossible witch at my side, deciding now is as good a time as any to bring this up.

I fiddle with my glasses and say, “What if … what if you got all the witches together? Do an event or something, show Levena that you’re just everyday people. It’s easy to make shadows on the wall seem scary.”

“An event,” Arlo says flatly. “All the witches. Together.”

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Quen, Tobias and me being friends isn’t normal. As a rule, witches hate each other. It was one of the biggest reasons why Leon could steal people like he did. They were scattered, easy to pick off.”

“Silas and Felix don’t hate each other.”

Arlo gives me a look. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Quentin.”

“Arlo. You could get along, if you tried. Have any of you ever really tried? If Leon’s back, then he’s just going to do the same thing because like you said, it worked before—”

“Quentin,” Arlo says, firmly this time. Not angry, but definitely not happy. “Maybe we all could’ve been friends. Before. You think I’m fucked up? I’m a fucking bushel of sunshine compared to some of the others. I’m not asking them for anything, they’ve been through enough. The last thing anybody wants is to be made a circus animal. We shouldn’t have to convince people that we deserve to be here.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, looking away from Arlo. All at once I feel chastised, pissed off, and righteous. To the wall, I say, “You’re right. You shouldn’t. But I’ll be damned if you won’t let me stand by your side. And maybe if you gave other people the chance, they’d do the same. Maybe they’re tired of hiding, just like you were. Like Thatch was. But how will you ever know if you don’t ask?”

Arlo’s hand rests on my forearm, and I look over at him. “I’ll think about it.”

I nod once. “Alright. I’m not … I know I shouldn’t be telling you what to do. But I am. Kind of.”

He’s quiet as he withdraws. He taps the table once. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Thank you for not signing the petition.”

“Oh. You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing.”

“Maybe not. But I am anyway. You’re a good friend.”

My cheeks heat. “Stop. Drink your chocolate.”

Arlo grins. “While we’re on the topic of good friends, how’s Loch today?”

I sigh, trying to keep my disappointment at bay. “Fine. He’s having family brunch today, which you know he hates.”

Arlo nods. “His aunt is a fine piece of work.”

“Aren’t all aunts?”

“Wouldn’t know. So you’re going to completely skip over the swooning in the snow part?”

“I was trying to.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate, which is more room temperature than anything. “There was no swooning, it wasn’t anything. Just … kissing a friend good night.”

Arlo laughs. “Listen, I love you, but I don’t think I’ll be kissing you goodnight anytime soon. Come on, what did he say? Does he want to … you know?” He gestures at me vaguely. “Actually name whatever this is between you?”

I open my mouth, but the sudden change of expression on his face stops me cold. I’m facing Arlo, who has the better view of the cafe beyond us, so I have to turn in my seat to find the cause of it. Dusan, joined by perhaps the most intimidating woman I’ve ever seen. Arlo stands, expression grave, and I do the same.

“Good morning, you two.” Dusan gestures between the woman at her side, and us. “Arlo, Quentin. This is my mother, Idina Garren.”

Idina is a tall and broad woman, with several inches on her daughter in every way. Her hair is long and stark white, some of it is restrained by tiny braids and beads, but the length of it hangs around her hips. She wears no jacket, and her dark clothes are loose and comfortable. Her eyes are the same sunshine yellow as Dusan’s, but lined with far more wrinkles and twice as much wise mischief.

What strikes me the most odd about her is that she wears no jewelry. She is plain, and simple. And very, very old. I have never felt more human than I do looking at her. Am I supposed to bow? I feel like I should be bowing.

“How do you do, Mr. Rook?” Idina asks, her voice lilting and calm. She reaches for Arlo’s hand first, and the way she moves is smooth and effeminate, intentional. Tucked under her left arm are a few old books, the pages weathered to say the least.

When Arlo’s hand meets hers, he inhales sharply through his nose, then politely says, “Please, call me Arlo. Um, please, sit down.” He corrals us all back to the booth. “Can I get you anything?”

Idina smiles, and it’s disarmingly beautiful. “No, thank you. Perhaps after.” She turns to me, shaking my hand the same way she did Arlo’s. “Hello there.”

“H–hi. I’m Quentin.”

Her smile broadens. “Yes, I’ve heard about you.”

At my sputtering, she winks and leaves me behind.

It goes like this. I sit beside the elderly dragon, and across from her daughter. Arlo sits beside Dusan, and across from Idina. Idina’s tomes rest on the table between us all, and my fingers itch to touch them. What has Dusan told her about me? Why is anyone talking about me?

“What can I do for you?” Arlo asks.

Idina glances at Dusan. Her daughter nods in acquiescence, smiling quietly. “I am here because a couple of months ago, I regained memories of a man you know as Thatch Phantom. I, however, knew him as Thatcher Gaillot. Unfortunately, I only saw him three times in my life, but he had a lasting impact on my family, beginning with my father, and ending with Dusannara.”

Arlo sucks in a breath, reaching for Dusan’s hand beneath the table. I ache to hold someone’s hand, and that Elochian was here to hear this. He’s been working just as hard as Arlo, Caspian, Kitt, or anyone else on this, and I feel like this is a moment. A breakthrough on the tip of a tongue.

Idina rests a hand on her stack of books. “The morning after I dreamt of Thatcher, I received the call from Dusannara explaining what had happened. Naturally, I searched our familial archives for anything that might not have been there before, potentially veiled by the Gods. But I found nothing.

“I let it be, as much as I hated to, until I heard that his gravestone had been uncovered. And I wondered then if history is being revealed in stages, by accident or design I haven't quite figured out yet. Regardless, I looked again, and this is what I found. You may have them, but might I suggest preparing yourself before reading.”

“Prepare myself?” Arlo asks hoarsely.

Idina smiles, gaze shifting to her hand on the books for a moment. When she looks back to Arlo, she says, “They are mostly love letters, games and such of the like, between my father, Henix, and Thatcher. There are some diary entries of Thatcher’s as well, both before my father’s arrival and after. They were lovers for a short time, until he died.”

“Your father?” I ask.

Idina blinks at me. “No. Thatcher. He died in the fire which transformed Min Isle to Levena. As you’ve guessed, they renamed the town in his honor.”

“But he didn’t die. He can’t die,” Arlo says.

“He can’t now, but he most certainly did. My father led the memorial, and commissioned his headstone. He found the … well. He found what remained of Thatcher. There are even accounts here from some of the people he saved.”

I rub my chin, whispering. “Resurrection? I don’t think there are any accounts of a God returning a person’s entire spirit, not just the soul, which is definitely what would’ve happened. His body had the …” My theory breaks off, and I wince at the memory of Thatch’s body wrought with burns and scars. I gently add, “He has the scars to prove it.”

Idina nods approvingly. “Quite, but if he works for the Gods, so to say, then it’s possible. But why use the same body, is what I wonder.”

“And he told Arlo he’s ten thousand years old, which is a lot longer than—when did this happen? We have ‘38, but not the millennia.” I ask quickly, mind working faster than my mouth.

“The fire of Min happened in 6038,” Idina says.

“Oh,” I say, blinking rapidly. “That’s only three thousand years ago. And we have evidence of him existing in 5012. That … doesn’t make sense.”

Idina shrugs. “I’m surprised you think time is a linear thing.”

“They knew who saved them, at the time,” Arlo says, speaking up for the first time. It takes me a moment to backtrack and catch on, but not Dusan.

She pats Arlo’s hand. “It would appear that his memory, and all these documents, began to fade about a month after the fire. But he was given a proper goodbye, yes.”

Arlo swallows, throat clicking. He stares at the books like they might bite him. “How old was he? Was he born there?”

Idina laughs, pushing the books towards Arlo. “Read, dear boy.”

He leans back and shakes his head. “Not now. I’d rather fall apart in private if it’s all the same to you.”

The elder dragon softens. “Would you rather I tell you about the first time I met him?”

Arlo huffs out a small laugh, then wipes at his eyes. “I’d like that.”

“Alright then. Firstly, I must say that after the fire, the town was rebuilt and centered around the castle. It was the site of the first library in Levena, run by my grandfather, Bailey, and Thatcher. Sadly, Bailey did not survive the fire.” Idina pauses for a moment, her expression solemn. “But I digress. Thatcher first arrived at the castle when I was eleven years old, and I dare say it might have been his first time seeing my father again.

“He knocked on the door and I answered, as I had a bad habit of doing for anyone and everyone. He was windswept and confused, and I think I broke him, if I’m being honest. My father was there a moment later, sweeping me into his arms. Thatcher had said, ‘Ah, hello. I—I think I have the wrong place. I was looking for the bookstore that used to be in through here.’

“And I could feel my father’s rapidly beating heart when he said, ‘Oh.’ He laughed quietly, which was to say quite loudly as he was a big man. He said, 'It hasn’t stood for years, it fell during a fire we had, and I …  it was my father’s, and I didn’t have it in me to keep it going without him.’ He stopped, surprised at himself, and asked, ‘Did you … my apologies, have we met before?’ Thatcher of course was devastated. He said, ‘N—no. I’m sorry to bother you. Have a good day.’ Then he ran off, and I didn’t see him again for nearly three thousand years.”

I sniff. “What. The. Fuck. Did you think that would make him feel better?” I throw a hand in Arlo’s direction. His face is tucked into the crook of Dusan’s shoulder, and she pets his hair.

Idina laughs. Actually laughs. “No, I didn’t. But I can’t tell this next part without telling the first part, which is depressing, I know. Look through the storm clouds for the sun and all that. As I said, I didn’t see him again for three thousand years, which is when this one was born.” She smiles proudly at Dusan. “He helped deliver her. I understand that he later bought that very same hospital, which I can’t help feeling sentimental over, although I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.”

“That’s why you’ve always remembered him,” Arlo says to Dusan, sitting up suddenly. “He has literally been watching out for you since … always.”

“I know,” she says, and her voice cracks on the two words. “I never thought to include my mother in my investigations, if only because I didn’t know they—we—are connected so deeply, and that I always forgot him so quickly after he departed.”

Now, it should be said that I do my best to maintain a mask of seriousness in times like this. But the sudden force of my next thought and the blunt truth of it knocks words and giggles out of my throat before I can stop them.

“Because Thatch was basically your grandfather.”

By the time my hands fly up to my mouth, all three of my companions have broken into fits of laughter.

What else can you do?

A short time later, I search for something with caffeine. When I’m a few steps away from the booth, I slip my phone out of my pocket. After joining the end of a long line, I check it. Leroy texted me. He was fired only a couple of days after I was, and all he did was refuse to sign the petition. Rumor has it there’s six more faculty on Carina’s shit list, and I’m kind of disappointed there’s not more.

Leroy (10:37 AM): did you make it out of bed today?

Me (11:10 AM): dressed, over caffeinated, and in public as we speak. You?

Elochian sent a message as well, only four words.

Lochian (9:58 AM): can boredom kill you?

Me (11:11 AM): it's the leading cause of death among my college students

I chuckle, stuffing my phone away after I send the message. The laughter fades as I think about Thursday. I’m nothing more than a night professor, teaching those who are failing their regular classes, or close to it. Sure, by the time I’m done with them they actually understand—better yet, want to understand—the metaphysics of our world.

I clench my fists at the realization that really, Eduardo can’t do anything to me. My seat on the board is an inherited thing, and not even the president of the university would dare piss off the woman who once sat in it. This thin immunity does not bring me the relief it should. I’d rather have a shield of my own making. He is the only person in Levena who knows my true identity, besides River.

When I step up to the counter, I’m surprised to find Idina at my side. I hurriedly look between her, and the opposite side of the cafe where our nook hides.

The elder dragon smiles at me. “Don’t worry, I was only standing with you the whole time.”

“Um.” I shake my head, then gesture for her to order first, unable to come up with any words. She orders two hot black teas and a box of assorted pastries, while I order coffee for Arlo and a spiced latte myself. Idina pays for everything, glaring at me when I try. I dumbly follow her over to the pick-up line. If you had told me this morning that I’d be having coffee with dragons, the key here being more than one, I would’ve thought you were mad.

She peeks into Arlo’s witch case and nonchalantly says, “You know, if anyone can figure out this business, it’s you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

She hums, watching the baristas work. “You’re clever, I can see it. And brave enough to break walls.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, well. I was fired for doing just that.”

“Perhaps it was to pave the way for something else. You teach at the university, do you not? Speak the truth there.”

“Ma’am, I know you’re a very ol—wise being, but the all-knowing thing is a bit creepy if you ask me.”

Idina laughs, and we move ahead in line. “Dusannara is proud of her life, and the people in it. You understand that you are part of her clutch, yes? The same as Arlo and the others.”

I clear my throat. “I … I did not know that. I’m not like Arlo and Kit, and Cas. She raised them. Don’t get me wrong, Dusan has always been kind to me, but I’m not … it’s not the same.”

Idina shrugs. “Agree to disagree, my dear.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t you live here?”

“Ah.”

Our order is called and Idina is slow as she takes the box, leaving the drink carrier for me. We begin to wander back to our people, but Idina pauses about halfway there, occupying a somewhat secluded area near the hearth. “You see, when the celestials moved in, Adriel and I thought it best if we … moved on. Dusannara was adamantly set against it, and accused us both of cowardice. Which in hindsight, I think may be true. How differently things would have been if we stayed. Picked a side.”

“A … side? I’m not following. Why would you leave because of angels and demons?”

Idina levels me a heavy look. “Do not let today’s modernity and false pretense of civility fool you. Celestials are monsters, through and through. There are not many things that dragons are afraid of, but hell hath no fury like an archcelestial scorned.”

I sputter, anger and confusion rising. “B–but you’re a dragon. Everything is afraid of you.” I clamp my mouth shut, but the damage is done. Idina sighs, dropping her gaze to the box in her hands. “I’m sorry, that was—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Do you want to know how the fire started?” She asks quietly.

I blink, not at all expecting that. The macabre side of me overtakes the polite side, and I say, “Yes.”

Without looking up from the box, Idina says, “There were no witches back then. There were only the Descendants of Dinphine, which is what my father was. Those given magick were given a singular purpose, to serve the Goddess that gave it to them. But my father left the temple, left his Goddess, and chose his own father. He made his own path, he was happy. But the temple would not have it, and they came for him.

“They came for Henix in the dead of night, and when they tried to take him, my grandfather pleaded. He begged. They shot him with what would’ve been a fatal orb of magick, had he been human. It forced the change, and triggered his primal instincts to protect what was his. He saved Henix, yes. But his life, and the village … Thatcher, it was all collateral damage.”

Idina lifts her eyes to mine, and a chill runs down my spine. “Boy. Listen to me when I tell you, when a beast like that is afraid of something, you damn better run away. It’s only a matter of time before monsters snap, and it’s always worse when they’re trying their damndest not to.”

I straighten my shoulders, not daring to disengage from our battle of the wills. Quietly, I say, “I’m sorry that happened to your family, but I think you’re wrong. The angels and demons of Levena are no monsters.”

Idina’s lips quirk. “For your sake, I hope I am.”