Chapter 2
Noah
Man, I love my job!
I clap my hands together loudly, tilt my head back, and unleash my signature "child-call," which is a sound somewhere between an owl's hoot and a banshee's wail. I perfected it during my first nanny placement, and it's never failed me since.
It's ridiculous. It's also effective as hell.
And right now, it cuts through the giggles and whispered plotting happening at the back of the playroom like a hot knife through butter. Two pairs of dragon-bright eyes snap back to me.
Amethyst's purple scales catch the afternoon light streaming through the window, glinting like polished gemstones as she straightens in her chair.
Her green eyes are wide with barely contained excitement.
Next to her, Raelia's ivory scales shimmer as she fidgets, her blue eyes already darting toward the prize hanging from my outstretched hand: a glittery pink tutu that's seen better days but still holds legendary status in this household.
I grin, pointer in hand, and tap it against the dry-erase board.
"Alright, ladies. Time to earn your tea party privileges." I move the pointer along the word I've written in bright-purple marker. "To win the tutu—" I pause for dramatic effect, watching Amethyst lean forward in anticipation. "What letter is missing from this word?"
I deliberately emphasize each letter as I point: "U-N-I-O-R-N."
Amethyst's hand shoots up so fast her purple wings spread and shove a doll from a shelf behind her.
I suppress a smile. She's the most gifted of the three kids, sharp as a tack and twice as quick.
I could give her the answer in Morse code, and she'd probably crack it.
That's why I challenge her the most. She needs it, thrives on it.
Raelia needs more encouragement, more gentle coaxing.
And Reginald? At fourteen, he needs structure and accountability, or he'd spend all day on the soccer field and never crack open a book.
Different kids, different approaches. That's what makes this job so damn satisfying.
"Amethyst?" I point the marker at her.
"It's the C!" She practically bounces in her seat, her wings doing a little happy flap. "Between the I and the O! C! And I know it's not a K!"
I throw the tutu into the air with both hands and let out a roar of excitement that would make a dragon proud. Hey, I'm the nanny for a dragon family, after all!
"THAT IS CORRECT!"
Both girls shriek with laughter, their scales shimmering as they bounce in their seats.
I catch the tutu midair and, without hesitation, pull it around my waist. It joins the hot-pink feather boa already draped around my neck and the fake diamond earrings clipped to my ears. The ensemble is complete, and I am magnificent.
"How do I look?" I strike a pose, one hand on my hip.
Raelia giggles so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. "Beautiful!"
"Your crown!" Amethyst points at my head with mock seriousness. "You forgot your crown, Noah!"
Right. Can't forget the crown.
I reach over to the craft table to grab the plastic tiara, a bright pink with purple gems, and settle it carefully on my head. The elastic band digs into my skull a little, but fashion is pain, so I suffer in silence.
"There." I adjust it with exaggerated care. "Now I'm ready for society."
Amethyst stands up, folding her hands in front of her with the solemnity of a tiny purple duchess.
"It is now officially teatime."
I sweep the pointer aside with a flourish.
"You heard the lady! Let's blow this popsicle stand and head to the kitchen!"
Amethyst sprints from the playroom, her wings flapping as she races down the hall.
I hear her squealing about being the first to pour the tea, her voice echoing through the house.
The girls won't be drinking actual tea, of course.
They'll be drinking organic apple cider in fancy teacups, but that's beside the point.
The point is, they did their schoolwork and now they're both ready for a good time.
But Raelia doesn't follow her sister.
She stays in her seat, her small hands folded on the desk in front of her. Her bright-blue eyes are fixed on the worksheet in front of her, and her ivory scales shine as her wings fidget with the back of her chair.
My buddy.
That's what I call her in my head, though I'd never say it out loud.
All three of these kids own a piece of my heart, but Raelia and I have something special.
She's quieter than her siblings and more introspective.
She's sensitive too—a rare quality for a dragon.
She worries about things in a way that breaks my heart a little.
I crouch down next to her desk. "Hey. What's up, buttercup?"
She doesn't look at me right away. Instead, she traces her finger over the paragraph she wrote about her favorite animal, a dolphin, complete with an elaborate drawing in the margins. The faint smell of ashes that rises from her confirms her emotional state.
Something is bothering her, alright.
"I missed a test question yesterday," she says quietly.
"Okay." I keep my voice gentle. "What question?"
"One about fractions." Her bottom lip trembles slightly. "I should have gotten it right. But I made a mistake, and I missed it."
God, she's so hard on herself.
"Raelia." I wait until she looks at me. "You got nineteen out of twenty on that test. That's amazing."
"But I should have gotten a hundred."
I wrap an arm around her shoulders carefully, mindful of the small wings tucked against her back. She leans into me, and I feel some of the tension leave her body as the smell of ashes lowers, then fades away completely.
"How about this," I say. "After tea and cookies, we'll work on some extra fraction practice. Just you and me. Sound good?"
Her face lights up like I've just offered her the moon. "Really?"
"Really."
"Thank you, Noah!" She throws her arms around my neck, and I hug her back.
"Anytime, kiddo."
She pulls back and beams at me before scrambling out of her chair and racing after her sister. I follow at a more sedate pace, the tutu swishing around my legs.
I cut through the foyer just as the front door bursts open.
Reginald spills inside like a small yellow tornado, bringing the smell of sweat, grass, and teenage dragon boy with him. His yellow scales are scuffed with dirt and his green eyes are bright with the kind of manic energy that only comes from a solid two hours of soccer practice.
"Reginald!" I call out with well-practiced authority.
He freezes mid-step, one foot on the stairs.
"Get that smelly stuff off and take a shower before homework.
" I point up the stairs with my best stern-nanny expression.
"And don't forget you have an essay due by the end of the week.
Two thousand words on the inclusion of Others in the Maine state legislature.
I want citations, I want analysis, and I want proper grammar. "
He groans, rolling his eyes so far back in his head, I swear they do the full 360 degrees.
"You're such a hard-ass, Noah."
"That's Mr. Hard-Ass to you."
"Fine." He makes a face, but I can see he's happy I reminded him of the assignment. He has a tendency to forget about these this school year, unlike the previous ones. "I'll start right after my shower."
Then he bolts past me, calling over his shoulder, "Nice tutu, by the way!"
"Thanks! Goes great with the crown!"
His laughter echoes down the hallway as he thunders up the stairs, leaving a trail of grass clippings and the faint smell of dragon smoke in his wake.
I watch him go, and something tightens in my chest.
Six years ago when I took the nanny job for the Jarvis family, Reginald was eight years old and small enough to climb on my shoulders.
He followed me everywhere, chattering nonstop about dinosaurs and whether dragons were technically related to dinosaurs.
Now he's fourteen, all gangly limbs and teenage attitude, more interested in his friends than hanging out with his nanny.
I don't like watching them grow up.
It makes me worry they won't need me much longer.
And I need to be needed.
I push the thought away and head to the kitchen where the girls are already setting up for tea. The table is covered with a plastic tablecloth decorated with cartoon princesses, and Amethyst is carefully arranging cookies on a plate while Raelia pours apple cider into mismatched teacups.
I take my spot at the table right between them and accept the glass of cider Amethyst hands me with exaggerated ceremony.
"Thank you, Lady Amethyst."
She giggles and curtsies, her purple wings flaring slightly. We settle in, cookies and fake tea and laughter filling the kitchen.
I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures: Raelia's gap-toothed smile, Amethyst's scales catching the light, both of them with their crooked crowns and cookie crumbs on their faces. I send the photos to their parents, Derryn and Sharnia.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes with a string of emojis: hearts, crowns, and a dragon blowing a kiss. I smile and tuck my phone away.
This is my life. This is what I chose.
And I love it.
I'm an only child. I grew up with my grandfather in Saltford Bay after my parents died in a car accident when I was six. Gramps did his best, but the house was always too quiet. Too empty. I used to wish I had siblings, someone to play with, fight with, share secrets with.
Maybe that's why I studied early education in college. I wanted to be around kids, to fill that silence with noise and chaos and life.
But when graduation came and a friend's sister needed emergency childcare coverage, I took the job. Just for a while. Just until I figured things out.
Then I discovered I loved it.