Chapter 4
The Transition Center’s “Welcome Hall” turned out to be the common room.
The natural light from the wide bank of windows made it feel warmer and more spacious than it was.
Avelunne sat at a long trestle table, the remnants of a communal lunch of sandwiches and a rich and thick vegetable soup having been cleared away by efficient volunteers.
She rolled her shoulders, marveling at the absence of pain.
Denise Voski had been true to her word, arranging for the restrictive peace bonds to be removed overnight so Avelunne could shift.
A night spent curled in her dragon form in the field behind the building had knit her bones and soothed her scorched skin far better than any salve.
Now, clad in pants called “jeans” that felt stiff but durable and a soft flannel shirt that smelled of lavender and soap, she felt almost human again.
She clicked the top of the mechanical pencil Tanner had given her, fascinated by the thin stick of graphite that emerged.
It was a small marvel, a piece of everyday magic that held her together while her mind splintered with anxiety.
She drew the thin graphite tip along the pristine white paper of the drawing pad, getting a feel of the pencil’s capabilities by sketching the sharp angles of the metal box someone had described as a vending machine.
How long would the Town Council take to make a decision?
Neither patience nor waiting were skills she had been born with.
In the demesne, they’d meant survival; one learned to sit perfectly still while terror stalked the halls.
But here, amidst the clusters of chairs and the murmurs of free people, the urge to flee — to launch herself into the sky and escape the shackles of responsibility — crawled under her skin.
Drawing kept her in the now. She focused on the shading of the inner coil that held a stack of identical bags of odd, triangle-shaped foodstuffs with an equally odd name, then capturing the reflection of the overhead lights in the glass.
If she anchored little pieces of reality on paper, perhaps it would stop feeling like a dream.
“Is that a robot?”
The question came from the other side of the trestle table.
Avelunne looked up to see three pairs of dark, curious eyes peering over the edge of the table.
The children had a similar look with sharp features and wavy dark brown hair that defied gravity.
The smallest one, a girl with messy braids, was pointing at Avelunne’s paper.
The mid-height boy was focused on the drawing.
The tallest, a girl, watched Avelunne with a hint of wariness.
“I don’t know what a robot is.” Avelunne turned her work around to show them. “‘Tis that machine in the corner that dispenses packages of food for silver coins. A vending machine, I believe it is called.”
“You talk funny,” the middle boy child said, climbing onto the bench. “Can I draw?”
Avelunne’s fingers tightened instinctively on the metal coils.
The pad was a gift from the Sheriff. It and the pencil were the only property she held in this world.
And she was as possessive as any dragon.
But she looked at their hopeful expressions and recognized the need to express, to create. “You may.”
With reluctance that she tried to hide, she carefully tore three sheets from the pad. The ripping sound seemed loud in the quiet room. She slid the precious blank pages toward them and held up her mechanical wonder. “But we must all share the pencil.”
“No need for that.” A gruff voice rumbled from the doorway.
A heavyset bear shifter lumbered toward them, carrying a clear plastic bin full of supplies.
Chulu had introduced himself earlier as the “den mother” for the strays.
“I brought the art supplies.” He set the bin on the table with a clatter that drew four more children from the corners of the room like iron filings to a magnet.
“All you pups and kits, choose your weapons and sit.” His grumpy tone didn’t seem to faze the children in the slightest as they dove into the box, bringing out paper with printing on one side and an amazing variety of pencils and similar implements.
Chulu pointed to her pad. “Don’t use up your good stuff on these young hooligans.
They go through paper faster than they go through dessert.
” He moved to stand at the end of the table.
Avelunne wasn’t sure if he was protecting the children from her or keeping them from bothering her. Perhaps both intentions were true.
From the bin, she selected a pencil with blue lead, pleased to note its quality workmanship. On the lower corner of her current page, she tested the pencil with a brief sketch of the girl with the braids. The child was intent on coloring a house with a deep purple marking pencil.
“Shelo, what are you drawing?” The tallest girl and probably the oldest of the three siblings was looking over the youngest’s shoulder.
“The scary place,” the girl said matter-of-factly. Below the house, she drew a stick-figure human with a halo of hair, claws, and teeth, holding a line attached to three smaller figures that looked like children. “They wanted to eat us hyenas.”
The tallest girl shook her head. “No, Shelo, the lion saved us. The bad men wanted to trade all us shifter children to the baloi.”
From her travels in the African continent, Avelunne knew that word all too well. “Sorcerers.”
The tall girl hesitated, then nodded. The male child, seated next to Shelo, hunched over his drawing like he was afraid someone would take it away. “They killed our parents and tracked us to the orphanage. Nothing stops them. “
The tall girl put a hand on his tense shoulder. “We’re safe now, Khumo.”
“I know something that stops them.” Avelunne channeled her rage at the children’s plight into a quick sketch.
She turned her pad around to show them what she’d drawn.
“Few baloi can withstand a bolt from above.” Her sketch depicted a cloud with a hint of dragon wings above a human man being struck by a bolt of lightning, his chest blackened and his hair on fire.
The older girl’s eyes took on a savage expression before she smoothed it away. “It’s bad to wish death.”
Surprisingly, Chulu spoke up. “True enough, Naledi. But only if it’s not deserved.”
Khumo’s eyes rounded as he looked from the sketch to Chulu, then Avelunne. “Really?”
“‘Tis assuredly deserved in defense of your life and your family,” Avelunne agreed.
Shelo looked up from her drawing, where she’d added a blazing orange sun. “You talk funny. Like in the movie about pirates.”
Avelunne smiled. “I learned to speak long ago. If you would be so kind, please instruct me. For example, what is a ‘movie’?”
The children giggled, delighted by the prospect of teaching a grown-up.
For the next hour, as they made art and talked, Avelunne forgot the Council and the terrible demesne where her fellow captives still languished.
She learned that “streaming” had to do with entertainment rather than water, that “cool” meant pleasing rather than cold, and that there was a mechanical box in the kitchen called a “dishwasher” that scrubbed begrimed cookpots all by itself.
As she showed them little tricks she’d learned to manifest on paper the visions in their heads, she realized that while she had lost centuries, the world had filled the gap with wonders.
If she could get past this temporary stay in Kotoyeesinay, maybe she’d someday get to see them.
The common room’s quiet chatter suddenly became animated when the double front doors slid aside to admit a stout woman with skin the color of heavy cream and hair like spun silver.
She was dressed in a short gown of red and green velvet that lacked sleeves, yet she wore no coat against the chill.
Denise Voski emerged from the administrator’s office instantly, a clipboard in hand, looking as though she expected the arrival.
“Hey, Tinsel.” Denise’s tired eyes crinkled with a smile. “Panternak left specific instructions that you aren’t to turn the lobby into a fire hazard with too many lights while he’s hiding out in Fort LeBlanc.”
Tinsel laughed. “Bah, Panternak is a curmudgeon who flees at the first sign of a candy cane.” She pointed a thumb behind her. “I come bearing g-i-f-t-s,” spelling out the last word.
Before she could take another step, the children swarmed her, a tide of small limbs and loud voices clamoring for “prezzies” and thrusting their drawings upward for inspection. Tinsel absorbed the chaos with ease, praising Shelo’s purple house and smoothing Khumo’s wild hair.
Over the heads of the children, her silvery eyes locked onto Avelunne. “And you must be our new guest. I’m Tinsel. Denise tells me you’re looking for work.”
Avelunne stood, smoothing the front of her flannel shirt.
She was acutely aware that the entire cauldron’s worth of rich fish stew she had consumed the night before likely cost a small fortune.
A dragon’s appetite was a debt she did not wish to leave unpaid.
“I am,” Avelunne said, dipping her head in a respectful nod.
“I have no coin, and wish to earn my keep. I have strong hands, and I am not afraid of hard work. I would be honored to assist you.”
“Tinsel has a bread and beak-fest!” Shelo shouted, tugging on Avelunne’s sleeve to ensure she understood the importance of the information.
“Bed and breakfast,” Naledi corrected gently, though the tall girl looked just as excited. “She’s a polar fairy, and her sleigh flies by itself and talks.”
“She knows everyone in town, even the little babies!” Khumo added, his eyes wide. “She is the boss of the holidays.”