Interlude
QUINN
In the darkness of early evening, a dragon thumped onto the slate roof of the Alchemicor’s cottage home.
A child slid off the dragon’s back, giggling quietly as the dragon sniffed at her cloak.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a scone, which was not something dragons should enjoy, but was still Blue Spruce’s favorite snack.
The adolescent dragon, bigger than its siblings but still small compared to the centuries-old adults in Dragon Country, huffed smoke and delicately took the scone from Quinn’s small hand.
Blue Spruce’s teeth were razor-sharp, and it didn’t have lips, so this was a very tentative motion.
The result was a rough, scaly snout snuffling against her skin, making her laugh more.
Mum had wanted Quinn to take Ponder—because griffons were silent fliers, and because Ponder knew the value of a stealth mission—but Quinn liked Blue Spruce more. Ponder was Mum’s. Quinn had Spruce.
So, once she was out of Mum’s view, Ponder called Blue Spruce over, and Quinn labored onto the dragon’s back.
This was super smart, if Quinn did say so herself. Now, Pondie could keep Kappy busy. Kappy was always watching the Enty Feo’s school.
Really, Mum should know that.
“Stay here,” Quinn whispered to Spruce.
The dragon rumbled, and hot smoke curled from its nose.
It draped a wing over the side of the cottage, and Quinn gleefully leapt onto it, clamping her mouth shut with two hands as she slid to the ground.
For a moment, she was in pseudo-freefall, her stomach flipping—and then she thumped into the bushes below.
Scratchy. She clamored out of them, picking leaves from her wild blonde hair.
Inflil-tation. Time to show Mum what Quinn could do.
“The lock is sealed with alchemy. You won’t be able to pick it,” Mum had said, which was a real shame, because Quinn had just gotten a lockpick set for the Midwinter Celebration, and was dying to use it on something other than the washroom door when Mum was taking a bath.
Doors just weren’t locked in Tawney very often. She was excited to try it on Enty Feo’s school—but Mum gave specific instructions, and Quinn wasn’t going to disobey them.
Not on her first inf-ation. Infil—
Hmm.
Her first sneaking.
“Enty Feo’s back window, however, is always unlocked. They like fresh air when they sleep.”
(“It’s creepy you know that, Rain,” Mama had said, and Mum had given her that look, and Mama had pretended she was reading again, and Quinn had laughed and laughed.)
The window on the back of the cottage. This was good.
That side of the house faced the back of the courtyard and the forest beyond.
On the roof, Blue Spruce had crouched low by the chimney and was practicing its own, pre-rehearsed version of sneaking, where it went perfectly still and appeared to be a roof itself.
Quinn had coached it on that. Pride filled her soul, and she whispered, “Good job, Sprucie!”
Blue Spruce growled low, which wasn’t sneaky, but was cute.
The courtyard was empty except for a few people hanging out near the school itself. Quinn stopped to stare at the rock in the courtyard’s middle. It had a fancy name, too, but she had no idea what it was. To her, it was a rock—but a fancy rock, one that let Enty Feo do magic.
Quinn liked magic, even if magic didn’t like her.
Focus. Quinn hugged the bushes and rounded the house. Find the window—oh.
Uh oh.
There were three windows.
Quinn stared at them, eyes widening. Aww. Which one was it? She crept to the closest one, reaching for the handle—but stopped short of touching it.
“All the other windows are spelled,” Mum had warned. “Find their bedroom window. Don’t touch anything else.”
(“Enty Feo sure is paranoid, aren’t they?” Mama chimed in, grinning at Quinn. Quinn didn’t know what paranoid meant, but she liked being in on secrets, so she nodded enthusiastically.)
Now, Quinn stepped back, hopping to see inside the windows. She was too short for this. At least there wasn’t snow on the ground anymore—even Quinn knew that leaving footprints in snow would be pretty obvious.
When she jumped at the middle window, she saw a bed inside.
Perfect. She leapt forward, pulling open the window without any second-guessing.
She held her breath—but there weren’t alarms or anything, so it seemed safe.
She climbed inside, flipping over the windowsill and landing on her butt.
More laughter bubbled from her chest, but she again clamped her lips shut.
Mum said spies didn’t laugh.
And Quinn would be the best spy.
“Once you’re inside, look for Feo’s diary. I have on good authority they keep it in their bedroom. Check it for anything relating to Uncle Wylan, specifically.”
Quinn had just started to read, and Mum made her memorize what Uncle Wylan’s name looked like. She prowled around the bedroom, lifting the mattress to peek underneath, checking trash cans.
She found what she was looking for sitting on the desk in the corner.
It was disappointing, actually. It was supposed to be better hidden—tucked in a false drawer, maybe, like in the stories Mama read her at night. Or maybe locked in a cupboard, and then she could use her lockpicks!
Quinn plopped onto the chair, simmering in irritation that Enty Feo wasn’t sneakier. She turned the pages—it seemed to be a journal, but it was filled with words she didn’t know, so it didn’t seem very useful. She flipped to the back, finding recent entries.
There! A few mentioned Uncle Wylan.
“Use this special paper to trace what they wrote. Only on the pages that mention Wylan. We want to leave them some privacy. Do you understand, dearest?”
(“Oh. Now you’re concerned about privacy?” Mama had drawled, which again garnered her that look. Quinn was learning that Mum used that look a lot with Mama when they talked about sneaking.)
Quinn fished out the paper. It was thin, nearly see-through, and she draped it over the inked pages.
Mum had given her a super special stick of charcoal, and taught her how to lightly color over the page.
Just like at home, Enty Feo’s words showed up, darker than the surrounding charcoal. A perfect copy.
For good measure, Quinn copied eleven more pages.
At some point, she stopped looking for Uncle Wylan’s name, mostly because this was really fun and she felt very much like a spy right now.
Only once she ran out of the translucent paper did she close the journal, stuff the pages into her pockets, and sprint for the window.
“Sprucie,” she hissed, suddenly feeling like Enty Feo could arrive at any moment.
What would they do if they caught her? Magic?
She could fight, but she hadn’t brought the dagger Mum had gifted her last year.
She brought the lockpicks instead. Maybe she could smack Enty Feo’s hand with one? They were pretty heavy.
Heart pounding, she gasped when Blue Spruce slid off the roof, puddling beside the window. The dragon peered into the cottage, but it was half the size of the building, so it could only fit its head inside.
Quinn lightly smacked its nose and said, “Bad dragon! Not in here.”
Blue Spruce huffed, but dutifully bent its head to her level. She grabbed one of its curling horns and let it tow her out of the window, which was not at all graceful, but was more fun than how she got inside.
“The window! Wait! The window,” she gasped, and Blue Spruce paused to let her close the window behind her.
No sign at all they were there. Except the crushed bushes, the scratches on the slate roof, and the very obvious dragon that spread its wings and took flight, leaping out of the courtyard. In the distance, Kappy screeched, but Ponder chittered back, and Kappy let them go.
Quinn laughed boldly as they soared into the night, heading back to Tawney.
She was so good at infla-taration.