Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Soren carries me down the stairs and out of the building. He puts me down and waits until I’ve regained my balance before he lets go. The door hangs off its hinges. He picks it up and awkwardly closes it. It won’t close. It bounces open when he tries and leans a little to the left. He shrugs.
Owen gives me a once-over, and Jeff nods. “Glad to see you’re okay. Come on. The car’s parked around the corner.”
Forrest—or should I say wolfy Forrest—appears. Her nails click as she pads across the pavement, and her coat gleams in the sunlight. She’s white, and the tips of her fur are red or reddish pink. I haven’t seen a shifted wolf before. She’s quite big, around waist height.
We didn’t have shifters in town, so this is kind of cool. My hands twitch, and I want to pat her head and tickle behind her ears. “Oh fate,” I tell her, “you are so beautiful.”
Her mouth opens, and her tongue lolls out. Forrest gives me a wolfy grin, and her tail wags in a circular motion. With her ears flopping to the side, she just looks adorable. She sneezes three times in a row, sniffs, snorts and uses her paw to itch her nose.
I pout when the visual treat is gone. From one breath to the next, Forrest stands there in her clothed human form as if she weren’t some grand, furry beast a second ago.
“I’m glad to see you’re all right. I don’t know where they’ve gone. They’ve disappeared into thin air and left these weird little piles of ash everywhere. Do you think they can teleport?”
I hold my hand up. “Yeah, that was me. I, um, vaporised everyone.”
Forrest grins and gives Owen a high five. “Look at that! Look at our training. Vaporised. Get in!” She gives me a double thumbs-up. “When we get to the house, you’ll have to give me all the gory details. I want to know everything, dragon girl.”
Owen shakes his head, Jeff laughs, and they all continue to joke with each other as we wander back through the narrow alleyway, away from the ley line gateway to the back of the buildings and the cars.
They talk about what they will eat for dinner and decide to pick up Chinese on the way home. Once they take my order, Soren opens the door, and I crawl into the passenger seat, suddenly exhausted.
I wave to Forrest, who bounces to Owen’s car, and Jeff follows them. They’re gone, and we drive away from the office building through the small, run-down town and back onto the motorway.
I spoke to my mum yesterday, and she’s still unhappy with me.
Oh, she’s happy because she’s back at home with her things, even though they’re not really her things.
I love my mum dearly. She’s used to seeing me as a child.
She needs to start seeing me as an adult.
She disapproves of my magic, and she doesn’t understand me.
She’s disappointed. Not with me helping people and not with me saving our town.
But she’s angry with me for being a martyr.
That I should have originally kept my mouth closed.
If I hadn’t tried to save Soren, if I hadn’t used my magic in front of him, then he would have never known it was me, and all this being protected and guarded would never have happened if I’d just done what I was told.
I can beg to differ, but not to her face. Fate has a hand in everything that happens. Sometimes things have to happen.
Like destiny.
I look at the gargoyle who likes me and smile to myself.
Yeah, destiny.
That’s when my entire back starts to itch.
I surreptitiously wiggle and rub my shoulder against the side of the car seat.
It feels uncomfortable and sore. I try to ignore it, but then my arms start to burn.
I hiss, and then I groan. Why do I have to be in so much pain?
My head feels like a migraine is coming as my vision becomes blurry.
I frown as I wiggle my left foot. I’ve now got pins and needles in my toes, and both my arms feel like they’re on fire. “Soren,” I say. “I don’t feel well.”
He glances from the road. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”
“Something weird is happening to me.”
“Your magic weird or normal weird?”
My nails dig into my thigh. I trusted him enough that my ward knew he was allowed through. I’m positive I’m in love with him. I need to trust him now. I swallow down my nerves and roll up my sleeve.
I show him because he won’t believe me unless he sees for himself.
I show him the green scales. The scales disappear under my sleeve, covering my entire arm.
When I tilt my wrist, they sparkle in the light coming through the windscreen, like the colour-changing paint on fancy cars: green, blue, and a little silver.
One-handedly, Soren gently cradles my arm and rubs his thumb across the scales on my skin. “Scales? Did this happen just now? Did they do this to you?”
“No, it’s happened a few times, in patches.”
“You should have said something. How long? How long has this been happening?” He pulls the car into the first lane and takes the next slip road.
“I’m sorry. I was scared and confused.” I shrug and pull away from his hand. “A couple of days? Maybe a couple of weeks?” I wince. “I’m not sure. Soren, I’m freaking out, and my skin is itching. I can’t remember when they first started happening. It seems to be when I’m stressed.”
We come off at a roundabout and continue driving silently for a few minutes. The gargoyle’s jaw ticks, and his big grey hands clench the steering wheel.
“They’re itchy, and I didn’t think much of it, but my back is hurting, and I feel like…” I bend over. “I’m going to be sick.” My stomach revolts, and Soren stops in time for me to open the door and throw up all over the road. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t feel good.”
I can’t make sense of what he says until Soren sweeps me into his arms. “It’s not safe here.”
“No, please don’t.” I push against a massive pec. “I might throw up on you.”
“I don’t care,” he says, and then he’s running.
Why is he running? When we have a perfectly good car?
Oh fate, I hope my stomach doesn’t revolt again.
I love this guy, and he can no doubt smell my sicky breath.
He bolts through an industrial estate, past a few rotten-looking buildings, and over a service road, and then there’s a road made from concrete that looks like something from the 1970s and an old Harris fence.
I don’t know what he’s going to do until his wings snap out, and he lifts into the air, and we are over the fence.
He flies another fourteen feet; then he’s back on the ground and running again.
He continues to use his wings for balance as he runs incredibly fast. I didn’t realise gargoyles could move like this. We come out from between a copse of trees, and we’re in a field. In front of us is a beautiful, old aqueduct that continues off into the distance.
Soren gently places me down on the grass, and I’m gasping. He isn’t even breathing hard. “You’re okay,” he says, brushing the sweaty hair from my face. “I’ve never seen this before. But I have a feeling that you’re shifting. You’re turning into a dragon.”
Shifting? What?
“What are you talking about? No, that’s not possible.” I let out a moan as my insides roll and squeeze, and I feel like I’m falling apart. “It hurts,” I cry.
He holds my hand. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Kricket, you need to stop fighting and let go. Please love.”
Let go! Is he nuts?
“No. Can I not have a healing potion?” I pull on the cloud, and the charms do nothing. They do nothing! “Why are my charms not working? Why aren’t they healing me?” I whine.
“Because there’s nothing to heal.” He holds me in his arms and whispers, “You’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re okay. Just breathe. Can you see yourself when you use your magic to look at magical signatures?”
“No, I can’t see myself,” my words emerge as a growl.
“Try.”
I scowl at him. “I don’t want to talk about the magical signature. I don’t want to talk about magic at all. I want my healing charms to help me.”
I want him to save me.
“Nothing girl. Please check,” he says with his own growl.
I huff and close my eyes. I find my magical signature to be completely different.
It’s fluctuating and changing. It doesn’t look like my brothers’ anymore; it’s different, somehow fuller.
I’ve never met the silver dragon, but I’ve seen the imprint of his magic within the hellhounds and can see similarities.
Soren’s right. It’s a dragon’s signature.
Oh fate. Oh no.
I’m too young to shift into a dragon.
According to the books in Nan’s library’s reference section, dragons are old when they shift, and they don’t change to a dragon form because they are dragons. No, they turn human, but gaining the magical strength can take a thousand years.
Oh no. I’m doing it the wrong way. And I’m not a dragon! I have some magic and a little DNA. It must be the charm. Have I inadvertently sucked down some energy?
The Dragon’s Eye has messed me up, and now I’m going to die. Do people die from shifting wrong? “Am I going to die?” I must say the last words out loud, because a rumbly rockfall voice tells me I won’t die and to let go.
The pain ceases, and I can’t feel anything. I can’t hear him. I can’t see him. I’m floating. I’m swallowed up by the blackness in my head. There is blackness around me, and all I can see is my magical signature pulsing.
I trust him and let go.
I allow it to happen and stop fighting. It becomes easy, like walking across a room. My body flows like water; it feels like a relief. What I am cracks open and falls apart. The little microparticles that make up my spirit and body twist and break.
The particles re-form and I grow bigger.
I grow much bigger.
Soren’s no longer holding me. I worry that something has happened to him, but I pray he got out of the way ’cause I’m no longer me.
Well, I’m no longer me with my human skin and my red hair.
I’m different.
I’m not human. I’m dragon me.
I dig my toes into the grass, and it parts easily against the pressure.
I’ve got toes on my hands. I lift my hand, and within the iridescent green scales are long, catlike, incredibly sharp black nails.
Claws. I’ve got four toes. I wiggle them.
Huh, I’m missing a digit. I glance underneath me, and the toes on my back feet are the same—four toes.
Wow. I look at my other hand—no, my other foot—and see the same.
Gosh, this is weird.
I’m green, and I’m not that big. I heard the silver dragon’s left nostril was as big as a car.
But I’m not big at all, perhaps the size of a car?
I wonder if female dragons are smaller than males, but it might be just my age.
I know the silver dragon is thousands of years old, so it must be that. Maybe I’ll grow bigger as I get older?
I stretch and wobble. It’s weird to have four legs, and I look out the side of my eye and see a wing and, on the other side, another wing—dark green wings.
Bat-like. No, dragon-like. I toothily grin.
I turn my head. Oh, my neck is long, and I can almost, yeah, I can get it back really far and look at my bum.
I have a long tail with a spiky thing at the end.
I cough and blow out a breath. It’s air, there’s no flame. I don’t even know if dragons do flames. I roll my eyes to look up and think I’ve got horns. I lean to the side, and my back leg comes up, and I carefully pat around my head.
Oh yes, I’ve got horns. They’re only small. That’s kind of cool. I stretch and yawn. I’m tired from shifting. But I’m not worried about being in this shape. I know I’ll easily be able to turn back.
There’s a noise to the left, and a smaller version of Soren stands there, his mouth wide-open, pointing. “You did it. You are a dragon,” he says. “You’re a beautiful dragon.”
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I’m a dragon.
And then he starts to laugh.