Chapter 19 Chance
Chance
All of my attention belonged to the sweet little dragon crouched at my feet. Fifi, all molten and shaking, copper wings wrapped around her middle like she could fold herself into a paperclip and disappear.
We needed to get outside. She'd feel better when she wasn't confined by walls.
Before I could usher her out the large French doors, installed just for reasons such as this, my mother erupted into the room like a flash bomb.
She didn't waste time with hellos or polite words.
Her heels had barely hit the hardwood before she was shouting.
"I felt her shift, I couldn't stay away!
" She slammed the front door so hard the frame cracked.
I'd never seen her in such disarray. Her hair had worked loose around her face, and her usually perfect clothes were rumpled.
The look in her eyes was all frantic worry, barely reined in.
Inside my chest, Caden crowed. Or, I was inside his chest at this point.
Either way, he liked this, our mother and Maeve being here.
Too bad both of my brothers were too far away to join us.
He liked the show of loyalty, the rush of family rushing into place.
Even the air seemed to snap. The world felt right and true.
Mom dropped her purse on the floor. "We have to get her outside, now." She gestured to Fifi, my daughter, her granddaughter, then looked at Caden. "Get her outside, Chance!"
Caden rumbled at her and narrowed his eyes. We were working on that when you barged in.
He wanted me to forgive her, but that didn't mean he was going to take it easy on her, either.
Maeve flung herself at the French doors on the far wall. "On it!"
The doors had been built for dragons. Triple-glazed, floor to ceiling, wide enough to drive a truck through. The doors whooshed open. A gust of cold air blasted inside, fresh and sharp, full of rain and crushed leaves.
Lola blitzed past, a white streak of pure feline adrenaline, her tail twice its normal size. She screamed as she cleared the threshold and vanished into the night.
Apparently, she'd had enough.
In the same breath, Caden nudged Fifi's shoulder toward the door. She was still hunched in her own light, copper scales rippling with unease.
Tash got herself and Mere on their feet, wobbly but determined. The dog, Huey, circled their shins, whining and growling at the same time, like he couldn't decide what to do to defend his people.
Fifi, her dragon's name wasn't yet known to me, stumbled out after her mother and sister, staying next to me and Caden. We nudged her wings up so they didn't drag the ground.
The patio emptied into a moonlit stretch of grass. Wet and still green, ringed by mountain laurel and the old stone wall. The yard was big enough for a parade of dragons, thanks to my grandparents.
Mom was three steps behind me and Fifi, but she didn't hesitate. Once her heels hit the grass, she kicked them off and let her dragon out.
It was like a star going supernova. White fire tore through her skin, dress and all, and in her place stood her dragon Lyra.
Long, elegant, flawless, opalescent from nose to wingtip.
Her scales shimmered, catching every slant of moonlight and throwing it back in waves, as if she'd swallowed a diamond and set it loose through every cell.
Lyra moved slowly, movements deliberate and regal, closing the gap to Fiona.
She dipped her head, kept her tail low, and her wings tucked.
This was the posture of a wise dragon, the one who'd seen countless sunrises and ridden the wind for decades.
There was no anger, no threat. Just grace and the softest hint of cedarwood under the raw ozone of her power.
Fifi hesitated, trembling. Lyra made a sound. Not a roar, not a command, just a low, humming chuff that cut straight through the dark. It wrapped around dragon ears like pure comfort.
Caden joined the hum.
You're not alone. You're safe. Breathe, little one. Both of them repeated it until the air shivered with calm.
It worked. Fifi finally unfolded. Her wings dropped, claws pulled in, and her gold eyes blinked wet as she stared up at Lyra.
My mother's dragon dipped fast, nuzzling the copper face with a gentleness I hadn't seen from her human version since childhood.
The contact was quick, but it was enough.
Fifi whimpered once, then melted to the ground in a heap of scales and relief.
Lyra coiled around her, tail sleeving the smaller dragon like a weighted blanket. It was pure instinct. Protect, shield, wait for the storm to pass.
I yanked myself out of Caden's perspective, gutted but grateful.
I let my dragon form shrink, bones and flesh wrenching back to human.
My clothes remained, courtesy of one of Maeve's spells, which was handy.
Tash looked at me like she wasn't sure whether to run or reach out, and the wanting slammed into me just as hard as it had years ago.
I didn't want to embarrass Mere—or Tash, either, though I hoped for a different reaction from her in the future if we got naked together.
Steam puffed off my skin as I crossed the clearing and reached for Tash and Mere.
Tash was stone-still, her face caught between terror and awe. She gripped Mere's arm like a lifeline. The kid was shaking, but she took my offered hand.
So did Tash.
"You, both of you, did so good."
Mere blinked at me like she was trying to run a logic test, but she didn't yank her hand away.
Tash slumped into my side, just an inch, but it was everything. That small lean sparked heat in my chest that I had to fight to keep off my face. I squeezed her hand. "They're safe. It's all right, Tash. I swear."
She exhaled, on edge but grateful.
Meanwhile, Fifi's shift had started to unravel. The golden aura around her flickered, then faded, and suddenly the only thing on the grass was a very naked sixteen-year-old, curled up in shock. I snapped my head around the other way so hard I nearly tweaked my neck.
"Sorry!" I barked, staring at the patio flagstones, cheeks running hot.
Maeve barreled in. I couldn't hear most of the words, but they were gentle. Something about "normal" and "nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart," and a little snort that sounded downright impressed. Soon, she hollered, "You can turn back around, Caden. All good here!"
Fifi was clothed again. Sweatpants and a hoodie, just what she'd been wearing before her world went nuts.
One of Maeve's spells. She was one of the best, though I could never tell her that. Her ego was already too big.
My cousin managed to look smug, even with the green mask peeling off her chin. "From now on, your clothes will shift with you. Just a little witch trick. Makes mornings a whole lot less dramatic."
Mere's curiosity blitzed through the shock. She let go of my hand and took a step forward. "You have to show me that spell. Please?"
Maeve beamed. "Absolutely. I'll teach you everything. But maybe not all at once?"
But whatever calm Fifi had tried to ration was gone. In the next second, she catapulted across the grass, tackled Tash and Mere, and squeezed them with a force that would've done any linebacker proud.
Tash yelped, then dissolved, hugging her kid, our kid, so hard I thought they'd both pass out. Mere squeezed Fifi back, silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
Finally, Fifi peeled away, shoving her hair out of her face. She looked at me. Not like I was a stranger, but like I was the missing puzzle piece she'd been denied for too long.
I braced for the hit, but she was faster. She knocked the wind out of me with a big bear hug, arms locked tight. My heart detonated.
A dragon hug. Caden chuckled inside me.
Pure, fierce love shoved through my chest, and I hugged her right back, lifting her off her feet. "I'm sorry it took this long. I'm so sorry you didn't have help."
She snorted, tears and laughter all tangled. "It's not your fault. It's not your fault, Dad."
That word. Dad. It hit me so hard I nearly dropped her.
Even Caden shut up, awed for once.
I set her gently on the grass.
Mom circled back. She let the dragon fade, and for one miraculous second, she didn't bother fixing her hair or buttoning her coat or pretending she was above the mess. She was just a grandma, blinking at her reunited family, eyes wet with pride.
I didn't try to break the moment. I let it ride.
Tash looked at the gathering of dragons and witches in the yard and just shook her head.
"Fantastic. My daughter's a dragon, my other daughter's a witch, and my dog's the only one without superpowers. He's going to need therapy."
Huey, if anything, looked damn pleased with himself.
I laughed. It felt good. "Let's get inside."
The place looked even more destroyed than before.
I crunched over a line of dropped crackers and side-stepped a third of a pillow, but Mom didn't even blink.
She took the wreck in stride and made for the kitchen, flicking on lights and going full hostess.
Her phone came out of her pocket, screen pulsing with missed calls and texts, but she slapped it face down on the butcher block and thumbed it silent.
She didn't say a word to me or Tash. She just started tea. Kettle to stovetop, mugs lined, barely a twitch in her perfect posture. The only tell was the way her hands shook for a half-second before she steadied them.
The blend she chose was special, put together by Maeve for family emergencies. It encouraged calm and thoughtfulness, and tasted wonderful.
Tash followed us into the kitchen, eyes huge and part-wild, the twins and Huey trailing behind her. The dog stopped by a floor vent and flopped, pretending he'd always lived here. For some reason, that nearly did me in.