Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Roam sat cross-legged on the mossy ground, his arms draped over his knees, his chin resting on top of them as he shredded a piece of green foliage between his fingers.
He huffed, sending a stray strand of white-blond hair flying upward before it drifted back into his eyes. He didn’t bother brushing it away.
“Girls are so difficult,” he grumbled, scowling at the soft indentation in the moss where Spring had been lying less than an hour ago.
Almost an hour ago.
He muttered again, louder this time. “Seriously. One minute she’s snuggled against me like she actually wants to be there, and the next she’s acting like I lit her tail on fire.”
Girls aren’t problem, his cat hissed from deep within him, its mental voice curling around his thoughts like smoke. Problem’s you.
Roam jerked upright. “Excuse me?”
You heard me.
He narrowed his eyes. “No need to be rude.”
You stop being stupid, I stop being rude, his cat snorted with impatience.
Roam winced. His cat had been more sarcastic than usual lately.
This certainly wasn’t the first time it had clawed its way into his consciousness with biting commentary.
He braced his hands on the moss and leaned back, staring up at the tangled canopy above.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
His cat gave a sound halfway between a snort and a snarl. I know exactly what I talk about. You no deserve her.
The words struck like a rock to the chest.
Roam sat still, blinking slowly as they sank in. “Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
You’re welcome.
Roam sighed and picked up a pebble, flicking it at a nearby root.
“Look, I know you think everything is about Spring, but it’s not like we’re…
boyfriend and girlfriend or something. I mean, come on.
I’ve known her my whole life. We’ve played in the palace tunnels, fought over stupid stuff, and, well, we’ve done lots of stuff together, and she used to be pretty cool, but lately it’s like nothing makes her happy!
And it’s not like she’s the only girl in the world, you know. ”
She the one for me!
“That’s not fair!” Roam protested, then stopped. “Okay, I get it, really. And maybe she’s only been such a pain because her dragon is as bad as you. I wouldn’t know.”
You no ASK!
“I know! Ok? I know. I’m just saying, she might be the only one for us, but it doesn’t hurt to—to make sure, does it? I mean, it’s not, like, bad to have a little fun now and then.”
His cat growled low in his mind.
Roam flopped back onto the moss with a grunt, arms flung wide. “It’s not like we’re never going to see her again,” he muttered, more to himself now. “I just want to live life a little. There’s time. Plenty of time… if something’s going to happen between us.”
You don’t understand.
Roam grumbled, “You don’t understand.”
His cat ignored him.
Roam sighed. “Do you want to explain it to me? ‘Cause it really seems like sometimes you should be taking my side!”
His cat didn’t answer. Instead, Roam felt it turn away from him, curling up deeper within his soul, its presence tense and flickering like the tip of a tail swishing in agitation. Roam grimaced. The air around him felt tighter, the warmth of the moss suddenly less comforting.
A hollow ache bloomed in his stomach. He turned his head and gazed at the empty sky through the towering trees.
Even the leaves looked unreal—huge and curled like sails from an old pirate ship.
The bark of the trees rose like castle walls around him.
The scale of it all sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cool breeze drifting in from somewhere above.
Unease filled him. Spring had been gone for over an hour now.
What if… what if she doesn’t come back this time?
He sat up slowly.
Something was wrong.
A faint rustling off to his left made him freeze. His eyes narrowed as he turned, searching the shadows between two thick roots. A wet, slurping squelch echoed across the clearing.
Roam stood quickly, brushing moss from his pants as he stared into the dim forest. “Hello?”
The answer came in the form of a low, heavy slide of something massive moving over wet ground.
And then—
It emerged.
A snail.
But not just any snail.
A colossal snail, its glistening brown shell taller than Roam, its antennae twitching as it oozed across the moss with dreamlike slowness.
Roam stumbled backward, his mouth falling open. “What in the… snail-slimed stars is that?!”
He reached for the shift, for his inner cat—
Nothing.
“Come on!” he hissed aloud. “Shifting is literally your job!”
No.
“What do you mean no?!”
You ignored Spring. You ignored me. You deal with snailzilla by yourself.
“You are the worst Sarafin cat ever,” Roam growled.
Tell that to the snail, his cat sniffed.
His gaze darted to the ground, scrambling for anything remotely usable as a weapon. He spotted a twig the size of a staff. He yanked it free from the underbrush with a grunt and brandished it like a sword, wildly unsure if snails could even be fought.
“This is so not what I signed up for,” he muttered, edging backward as the snail slowly, almost thoughtfully, turned its eyestalks toward him.
Wish you’d fallen through the portal with Amber and Jade? his cat offered dryly.
“Yes! They’d have had a bomb or a giant net launcher or something!”
Spring breathe fire or dig. She protect you. She care about us!
The words landed hard.
He stopped moving.
His grip on the stick slackened.
His cat was right. Spring always had a plan. A backup plan. And a backup for the backup.
And she’d been gone too long.
His gaze rose to the sky, his throat suddenly tight.
“Spring,” he whispered hoarsely, the name catching in his chest.
For the first time, the possibility that he might not see her again unfurled inside him like an icy wind seeping from his bones and blowing across his skin.
He stared up at the canopy, the weight of the world pressing in on him.
And this time, he didn’t argue with his cat.
Because now, he finally understood why it was angry. And why Spring had been angry for so long.
He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
Spring pressed herself against the smooth, curved wall of the glass jar as the giant child lifted it with both hands, giggling with delight. The world swayed sickeningly as the little girl dropped from the counter to the floor and trotted toward her Nana, her curls bouncing with every step.
Spring tried to dig her claws into the slick glass floor and her wings half-flared for balance, but it was impossible to get a grip. Her heart pounded in her chest like a snare drum, the rhythm wild and uneven.
She was trapped.
She was really trapped—
And she was terrified.
The room glowed with ambient light streaming in from dozens of quaint windows. An iron kettle bubbled on the stove, steam curling in lazy tendrils. Glowing orbs floated gently in the corners, adding additional soft, comforting light.
Despite the magic swirling through the room, Spring couldn’t stop shaking.
“Nana!” the girl chirped. “Look at my fairy dragon!”
Nana, dressed in a soft blue blouse and a wildly colored ankle-length skirt, turned from the flour-covered counter. Her silver-streaked hair was twisted into a loose braid, and her warm, weathered face crinkled into a smile that made Spring’s heart stutter.
She stepped closer, peering down at the jar.
“Oh, she’s a pretty one,” the woman said with a chuckle, her voice rich and kind. “But, clearly she doesn’t belong in there.”
Spring shrank back, her wings curling around her like a shield. Her tail trembled behind her.
But then the woman said something that made her freeze.
“Well, dragon dear, would you mind introducing me to your mistress?”
Spring’s eyes widened. Wh—what?
She funny. I like her, her dragon snorted.
Wait! What are you doing?!
Before Spring could react, the familiar tingle of her transformation from dragon to human swept through her. In the blink of an eye, her dragon vanished and she was in her two-legged form, crouched on the glass floor, her mouth hanging open, completely defenseless.
Some protector you are! Have you been taking notes from Roam? she snapped at her dragon.
She scrambled upright, her cheeks blazing. “How did you know I—?”
The older woman winked. “That you were a dragon-shifter from another world?” The woman chuckled and waved her hand. “The wind talks. I thought if I were to ask your dragon politely to speak with you, she might listen.”
Spring brushed her trembling hands down the sides of her tunic, trying to calm the adrenaline surging through her body.
“I’m… Spring,” she replied, her voice low and uncertain.
The empty container amplified her voice, creating a deep, resonant echo that seemed to fill the space.
She glanced wildly around her prison before she studied the woman’s smiling face and repeated, “Spring Reykill.”
“Well met, Spring Reykill,” the woman said warmly, bowing her head. “I’m Madura, Spellbinder to the Giants—and it seems you’ve landed in my garden.”
Spring looked toward the window before turning back to the woman. “Well, not exactly in your garden. I was… exploring.”
She wasn’t sure how much she should tell the woman. Madura seemed nice, but Spring needed to protect Roam. Guilt surged through her at the thought of leaving him in a strange land, possibly defenseless.
Definitely clueless, her dragon muttered.
Hush! That isn’t kind, she admonished.
It true.
Spring pursed her lips. She needed to get back to him before something happened. She rubbed her arms, glancing at the window. If they let her out of the jar, could she make it before Madura or the little girl caught her?
Her thoughts were interrupted when Madura spoke to the child still holding the jar.
“Lania, love, would you mind fetching Dorella? Please ask her to pick a growth mushroom. A small one will do.”
“Yes, Nana,” Lania chirped. She placed the jar on the table and grinned at Spring before giving her a cheerful wave.