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  1. Below are the first two scenes of Spark & Flame. Chapter 1 Sparks cracked through the empty music room. Blue-white flashes, blazing and violent, picked up music sheets in a gust and snapped against the drum symbols sending them clamoring. At the center of the whirlwind, Riza Ashland knelt, gripping the sides of her head and muttering the steps her papi taught her. Not now. Please, she could not surge now. “Dirt. Rock. Cement. Brick. Steel.” She repeated, each seal within her mind building up, up and willing the power behind them. Another spark escaped, sending her curly black hair flying forward. “Come on.” Fingers pressed on her temples, she rolled out the growing pulse, pulse, pulse. “Dirt. Rock. Cement. Brick. Steel.” The pressure had been happening all morning. Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before, which was the only reason she didn’t mention anything to papi. Or why she didn’t opt for a sick day. But this was… Another steadying breath, the pressure subsided. Energy coursed through her, veins pumping and glowing under her skin, visible at the cuffs of her green school blazer. She flexed her fists once, twice, and they disappeared back to the normal olive. Sheets fluttered down, scattering on the ground at her knees where she’d buckled from the sharp flick of pain. “Great.” Quickly, she gathered up all the sheets, taking her own music and stacked the rest on her teacher’s desk on her way out. Rushing out, she nearly stumbling over the legs of a student seated on the floor, throwing an apology over her shoulder as she sped down the hall to the auditorium. Thankfully, she was always the first to arrive, the stage empty and her cello sitting, waiting to draw her into a peaceful melody. Resting the cherry wood bodice against the Franklin Station High School crest of a golden lion on her chest, the tightness in her neck eased. The dull ache in her head, numbed away. Necessary and welcome respite to the day. Especially with how today was going. Her hand drifted down, pulling the necklace until the lavender baroque pearl emerged out of the neck of her shirt. She stroked the smooth surface, then re-hid the pendant before picking up her bow. With her eyes closed, she embraced the cello and laid her fingers down on the fingerboard in a gentle caress. Familiar cold metal kissed her fingertips with a zap as she began to move them and glide the bow across the strands. Low at first, then building to a peak, the Saint-Saens “The Swan” solo notes began to vibrate around her. Music bellowed and echoed against the walls of the empty room, but Riza’s mind was quiet. In the black expanse, her seals groaned slightly at the crashing energy trapped behind but held strong. Good. Stay there. She turned the page, her bow sliding smoothly— pulse, pulse, pulse. No…not again. The bow clamored on the stage floor, Riza rolled her fingers over her temples, trying to ease the pressure gnashing at her skull, right as the auditorium doors clanged open. “First one, again?” Theo Whitaker said casually, hopping onto the stage with his violin in hand. Like all the junior boys in their grade, he wore a green blazer with white piping and the FHS crest stitched to the chest, white button down, navy blue tie and slacks. Unlike all the other boys in their grade, not many kept it as pristine all day, or looked quite as handsome, a fact many girls noticed, not that he was bothered by it. He slung his blazer over the back of the chair before sitting, his dark brown almost black wavy hair and fair skin glistened underneath the stage lights when he bent to grab her bow. “Thanks. I just thought I’d get some extra practice in for the winter concert.” She frowned. “Not that it’s helping. The acoustics are better when it’s empty so I can hear all the notes I don’t hit just right.” And fighting down energy surges wasn’t exactly helping her focus either. He looked at her with those serious deep set dark blue eyes that made him look older than seventeen. With a gruff laugh, “out of everyone here, you, Olivia and I are probably the only ones that don’t need extra practice.” “Humble.” She shook her head. “That’s because we practice, T. Not all of us can be natural born musicians and geniuses like you.” Olivia Kinley said with a quick wink and toss of her long brown pony tail in his direction as she walked passed them. Her navy blue skirt with green and gold checkering, the same one Riza wore only a few inches shorter, sashayed behind her in unison with her hair. “Music wasn’t my first choice but I appreciate the symmetry between music and math. Everything is calculated. Playing the violin wasn’t a natural born skill like math was, but it was easier for me than most. Plus, it looks good for pre-med. Steady hands.” “Uh-huh.” She laughed, the sound cheery, easy. “I think you just proved my point.” Sitting in the chair beside Riza’s she looked at her and said, “And I don’t blame you Riza. We have to keep up with the master over there.” She kept smiling and Riza tried to match that easy vibe, but looked away, pressing her eyes shut to equalize a stubbornly persistent jab coursing through her brain. “Are you going to try out for the Juilliard apprenticeship?” Riza titled her head to the side, scrunching her nose. “Mmm. Maybe. Are you?” Olivia raised her hand, fingers crossed. “Maybe we’ll be sharing chairs together again.” “I don’t know.” She flipped the music sheets back to the start. “It’s extremely competitive and I haven’t soloed before.” “So? You’re insanely good!” Riza’s eyes must have widened so much Olivia smiled. “You are. I’m kind of jealous. Anyway, soloing isn’t that big a deal. I really hope that’s not what’s keeping you from auditioning. The whole imagine them naked thing is crap. I like to just pretend I’m in my room. Don’t let fear win.” Sparks lashed against the seals. What Riza saw was chaos. Twisted metal. What she heard was screaming. Riza breathed, the energy settling again. “I wish it were that simple.” “Sure it is.” Olivia nudged her with an elbow. “Don’t make me drag you there.” “She will.” Theo chimed. The two of them laughed and the surging lulled to a quiet rumble. They weren’t friends, by any means, only exchanging a few words during rehearsal, or occasionally when they passed each other in the hall or when Riza ate at Alexi diner where Olivia worked with her mother. Olivia kept her own circle of friends from student council, girls from the cheer squad, and guys from the soccer team. And their only other connection was Max. Seeing Olivia with her friends, images of chatting, laughing with them came alive. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Fast, hard punches to the head and twisting in her gut made her hunch over. Jesus that was bad. Quickly she tried to straighten but now her stomach was cramping too. “You okay?” Theo said quickly looking at her then back to his violin as he adjusted the knobs. “Mhmm.” She shook off the ache, pulling herself upright. “Fine. Just a headache.” “This concert is a headache. Between my college prep tutoring, student council, and the science club, I’m lucky if I get a couple hours to practice during the week.” He bent forward, looking at Olivia. “Maybe our VP can get over her power trip and spare me from the pep rally stuff this week?” “No way! I need all the bodies I can get. If I can get enough practice for my solo, on top of Vice President responsibilities and dance, then so can you.” “Aren’t there rally girls lining up to cheer for my brother to help you?” “Nice try.” Olivia gave him an amused wink. Fine, long fingers worked expertly adjusting the knobs while picking at the strands. Serene, just as the swan in her piece, her delicate ivory face with a misting of freckles over her nose almost appeared like white feathers against the deep cherry of the cello. There was a reason she was one of the prettiest girls in the class. No wonder Max had dated her. Riza focused herself on adjusting her cello, ignoring that thought, while she willed whatever the hell was going on with her electricity to quiet the hell down behind the seals. Another clang. The auditorium doors swung open as more students flooded in, swarming to their seats and Mrs. Williams, her long loose brown and peppered white braid swinging back and forth behind her, large bag probably full of music books, in tow. Standing below the stage with her arms crossed, Mrs. Williams frowned. “Okay everyone, take your seats. I know it’s after school, we’re all tired, but we need focus.” She motioned to someone in the front row to take the music books from her and hand them out. “Make sure you’re on passage four of Saint-Saens.” Then, lower and sounding dissatisfied, “for those of you who were paying attention last rehearsal, that would be the tortoise piece.” It took a few more minutes, but the orchestra settled into a unified and clamorous melody, that shook against the walls, rattling the room awake. Though the name suggested a lumbering and slow piece, it was lively and quick, a complete parody to its title. And far too loud for her right now. Throughout it, Olivia and Theo played to detailed precision, not missing a single note. Pulse. Pulse. “Ah.” Her bow slipped, screeching the next note. Theo eyed her. “What’s with her today? Is she sick?” Riza’s hand froze. Pulse. Pulse. A spark sizzling in her hand— The music died off, people turning to see what the hell caused that. It was her, rather her cello, slipping and nearly crashing into Theo. No, no, no. He hadn’t been talking. That was his mind. But if that was the case then her seals— “Reez?” Theo said, concern lining his brow, mouth. He was gripping onto the neck of her instrument, guiding it back on the stand. “Something’s wrong.” “Are you okay?” “What’s up back there?” Mrs. Williams called over, both hands on her hips. “I need to—” She stood, grabbing her bag, dropping the music sheets, notebooks, and scrambled to pick them up. Theo knelt, grabbing a handful. Snatching them, he jerked back. She hadn’t meant that but she was surging, she had to be and he was too close. Everyone was.“Thanks. I’m just, uh, I think it’s a bad migraine. I need to go.” Olivia said something like feel better but she didn’t turn to say thank you or even apologize to Mrs. Williams, rushing out behind the stage exit door.
  2. Chapter 1.[MOU1] Bri Winter lay on her couch, tossed popcorn into her mouth, and stared at the TV blindly. Daytime TV got her through the day, well, at least until midday, after that, she was at a bit of a loss. There wasn’t much she enjoyed about her life. Maybe the sighting of an eagle overhead or a cobweb pearled in frost. She often wished she had been born a couple of centuries earlier when life seemed more romantic. “Seemed.” As the old cliche says—things are not always what they seem. The eighteen hundreds may have spawned Romantic poets, but it was filth ridden and rampant with disease. The women on TV were getting heated about Botox, the Puffy Filler Face, and other stuff Bri would never have to worry about. At eighteen, Bri looked younger than her years, she would always look younger than her years. That was part of her “curse.” To the women on TV right now, she doubted her perpetual youth would be perceived as much of a problem. Bri sighed stretching her legs, wing tips digging into her hips as she tried to sit up, but her black sweater caught on something sticky. Lumps, dirt, and stickiness. That about summed things up these days. Of the millions of things she knew she’d miss about her mother she never thought her cleaning would be one of them. She slumped back like some fallen angel on the sticky couch and sighed again. “Hello, love!” called a voice from the front door. Bri leapt to her feet, popcorn tipping over, wings spreading wide and knocking over a picture on the far wall. The tips bending hard against the ceiling sending shocks of pain through her shoulder blades and down her back. Altogether too big for this place, she winced, brushing popcorn off the seats into . . .what? Where’s the bin? A lone black feather fell to the ground. “Bri? I’m coming in, love.” Aunt Stella. Her silver Sky Walker heels rapped loudly, sticking to Bri’s badly washed linoleum floor. They stuck only for a second, but still Bri closed her eyes and shook her head with an inward groan. Her dad was as useless as she was when it came to cleaning. “Ah, Bri, they’re beautiful,” sighed Stella, covering her mouth in awe. It was always the same with Aunt Stella, always the awe, always the beauty, never the damned inconvenience of having six-foot wings attached to your back that were agony to draw out of the flesh, agony to keep within and even more agony to tuck away. Beauty wasn’t exactly the first word that sprang to Bri’s mind. “Sure,” said Bri, “Give me a minute.” She closed her eyes. Bones stretched, her back arched, and she hit the floor crouched on all fours, neck bent forward reaching to the ceiling, not that she could see the ceiling, her eyes were squeezed closed, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. There would be no sound. She had mastered that much by eighteen. The fire spread out to her shoulders; they cracked, her back torn open, cold blood trailing down her skin, and finally the shiver passing through her as the wings pushed themselves within her flesh. Bri let her head hang loose for a moment as her body adjusted to the pain rattling through her bones. Keeping the wings concealed took more energy than releasing them. Placing her hands on her knees she slowly got to her feet. “Caught you at a bad time, love?” asked Aunt Stella, languishing in the doorway, sucking on a cigarette. “Those things will kill you,” said Bri. “Have to catch me first,” cackled Aunt Stella. “Right,” smirked Bri, pushing a wisp of her short hair behind her ear and getting to her feet. She couldn’t resist the old broad. Aunt Stella’s enthusiasm for life was only matched by her love of cigarettes. Two loves that ran deep, no matter the irony that one would eventually end the other. “What a mess. And I mean you, not the couch.” Bri looked around; thin curtains still drawn, flowers from Mrs. Mulligan dead in a vase, and an interesting rendition of the Leaning Tower of Pisa constructed from dirty glasses. She sighed, swatting popcorn off herself. “Come on, get the kettle on, I’m parched. Waste y’r life watchin’ that drivel,” Stella marched through to the kitchen. Her words definite. Final. No arguments allowed. That’s how she always spoke. Bri appreciated it, mostly. Bri’s toes curled when she saw the pile of crumpled bedsheets waiting to be folded piled on the kitchenette table. She scooped them up and pushed them back into the washing machine. Giving Aunt Stella a tight smile. It didn’t matter, not really, Stella loved her, and Bri knew it. As the only child of Stella’s younger brother, Llewellyn Winter, the 100th king of their tribe, Bri was the daughter Stella wished she’d had. “Where’s y’r dad this fine morning?” asked Aunt Stella, eyebrows arched at the dishes filling the sink. “Out. Went with Tommy Mulligan and the others to work on Ender’s farm. They’ve got the October potatoes to start pulling,” said Bri, striking a match and inhaling the glorious smell of sulfur before lighting the gas stove. Aunt Stella made a Tsk sound and squeezed herself between the table and bench, her bare legs squeaking on the plastic seat. Blue eyes sliding to Bri. Celtic eyes that spoke of the long history between gypsies and Celts, not to mention Stella’s long aquiline nose. That was a Celt trait no doubt about it. “Wastin’ y’r life watchin’ that drivel.” Stella pulled on her cigarette. The usual Benson and Hedges. A brand, in Bri’s view, reserved for only the hardcore smoker. “You said. So will sucking on those cancer sticks.” Bri rested her head against the cupboard, closing her eyes. “Can’t argue with ya there. Damned things will be the end of me. Get on with that there tea.” The plastic seat cover squeaked against her thighs. Bri felt a thud, not her heart, a thud within the room— an earthquake? In Enfield, London? Was that even possible? The trembling began, hands and fingers. She gripped the counter, neck tightening, legs shaking. “No, no, no!” Bri shook her head and honed in on the water bubbling, slowly churning in the kettle, toes sticking to the linoleum floor—ground, Bri, ground…she told herself. The image took hold—a small, gold clasp…a book…a man’s hand, his hand? How could she know his hand? She’d never met him. The image ebbed. With a sigh Bri released the countertop, fingers white. Bri could feel her Aunt’s eyes on her back. “Was it him?” “I think so…” “Same place?” “His hands, a gold clasp, and a book. I can’t be sure, I’ve never even met the man!” Bri felt her aunt’s weighty stare shift, the gentle flick of ash. “It’s Fate. Meeting ’ll happen. Timings right.” “Today? You’re saying I go today? I can’t go today!” Bri tried to shake the feel of the warm gold clasp. “You got more pressing matters goin’ on around ‘ere, have ya?” Stella scoffed. “Dad’ll kill us both. I can’t go running to the one place he’s forbidden in search of some guy I’ve never met because…” the next words cut in her throat. “Cos she believed?” “I haven’t decided—” Bri cut in, but Aunt Stella held up a hand. “It was decided when ya mother gave ya a gift, and that gift turned out to be the sight of that boy. He’s got this cure your hell bent on seeking Bri. Though, why you’d want it is beyond me. But, it was decided with yr mother.” “You mean when she refused treatment and died a painfully slow death? Right? Yes, I remember that. That did decide a lot of things for me.” “It’s time, Bri. No more puttin’ it off.” Stella got to her feet pulling down her skirt. Bri turned to face her, cheeks burning, her body giving way— “I miss her . . .” her body trembled, bile rose in her throat. Stella caught her before she hit the floor. “Alright, alright. Come on now.” “I . . .” Bri began, stopping to catch her breath. Everything swayed in and out of focus, as if she sat atop a rollercoaster waiting for the inevitable drop. Stella’s firm hand clutched her elbow, momentarily enveloping her in the smells of stale cigarettes, gypsum, and hairspray. Makeup, like cement, filled the lines around Stella’s eyes and mouth. Tired, hooded, steely blue eyes that saw more and saw further than most dared. Aunt Stella was built of iron not afraid to delve into pockets of the world few would peer at from a distance. Yet those eyes looked at her with a love that threatened to bring Bri to her knees. And that simply wouldn’t do. The electric kettle clicked off. Bri closed her eyes gratefully, allowing her head to hang for just a moment longer. After a couple of breaths she gripped the cold, steel, metal back of her chair she pushed to her feet. Turning her back and withdrawing cups and tea from the cupboard, she hoped to avoid the keen questioning that was sure to follow. Aunt Stella didn’t like to be told no. There wasn’t a person in their clan that accepted the word—come to think of it. “No” was perceived as nothing more than a challenge to the Winters. “Right. Well, I made ya this for the journey. Here.” Stella took a pouch out of her handbag. Bri poured water onto the loose tea in the old, chipped teapot. “A putsi?” Bri turned the pouch over tenderly in her hands. It was small, maybe one-inch by two-inch square, made of a light shade of yellow with small star-like, white flowers, “Is this . . . is this my old dress? “Course. A putsi should be made from somethin’ loved, preferably worn, by the owner.” Stella smiled. “I know ya don’ like our traditions, Bri but indulge me in this one. Ya never know what you’ll find when ya travel, and a putsi finds room for whatever ya place inside it.” Bri looked down and whispered, “You know I’m a curse.” Stella’s pale blue eyes raised to meet Bri’s and hardened. “I never believed that.” Her words weren’t mean, but her tone was absolute, brusque and she stepped away straightening the putsi cigarette crackling. It had been decided. She would go to the Deep. Find the boy, honor her mother’s sacrifice, and live a—"normal life”. A life without wings, a life free from the curse. Easy. [MOU1]Chapter 1. Morrigan [MOU1]Chapter 1.
  3. Dragon Nightmare? Only two more centuries. I’m never going to make it. Quarter to midnight, six hours left. Kay Linda Taylor worried she wasn’t going to make it and then jumped when her mother came to check on her. Angrily she said, “Why are you up? You don’t have to worry about me, I can worry about myself. It’s my own fault I have to cram for this history test.” “You and Mary had fun taking care of Grandpop, before he died. There is more to life than A’s,” her mother said. “If you’re Mary, and are rich with a legacy, there is. But not me. If I want to go to an Ivy league school I have to get As. All As. But you wouldn’t understand because you don’t understand the value of a private school education.” “You’ve had straight A’s your whole life and this one class won’t break your record. Plus, I’m sure you’ll end up with an A.” Kay knew her mother wanted her to agree, but instead she was glaringly silent. “Ok, but don’t stay up too late. You need your rest.” “If I go to sleep now, not only will I fail, but all the stress will cause nightmares.” “Oh, honey. I worry. You are too young for all this stress. When this test is over, I want to go with you to your next appointments with Dr. Ong.” Traditional nightmares were child’s play, Kay’s were horrific. So, Dr. Ong, Kay’s therapist, who used her patented Lucid Dreams Therapy to teach Kay to control her chronic nightmares. In Kay’s nightmares she had learned to defend herself. In one she splashed jacuzzi water on visiting friends who turned to monsters melting them into smelly, black puddles. In another, a teacher threw Western Taipan snakes at her. Kay knew that one bite has enough venom to kill one hundred people in 30 seconds. She turned them into harmless corn snakes. One night, she was running and fell into a tank filled with tiny Irukandji jellyfish, whose venom causes excruciating pain. She turned them into Swedish fish and ate them. Last week, two T. rexes ripped her to shreds. While she lay on the ground in pieces bleeding out, they played tug of war with her large intestine. She pulled herself together, picked up a stick, and threw it miles away; the rexes ran off to fetch. Kay’s mother asked if she could get her a cup of coffee, but Kay gruffly told her to just go to bed. Her mother offered a kiss. Kay did not accept. When the door closed she felt guilty but instead of addressing the guilt she addressed her studies. Jarred by a loud sound, Kay bolted upright. She listened but heard nothing. She rubbed her eyes and picked up her phone. Two a.m. She realized she had fallen asleep and tried to find where she had left off in her History of the World text but was startled again by the noise, hurricane winds rushing through a barely open window paired with an electrical screeching so loud she could feel it in her spine. A shimmery light appeared across the room between the window and the closet, like thermal waves above the road on a hot summer’s day. Suddenly, the originator supplanted the shimmery light. That makes sense. I told mom this would happen if I went to sleep. She turned off her study lamp to focus the waning gibbous moon shining through the second story window on whatever had entered her room. It stood on the other side of her curtained four-poster bed, so she didn’t have a clear view, but the outline looked like a dinosaur. Kay smiled. A beastly representation of her history teacher Mr. Humbert, she thought. What should I do with this beast? She needed to know what this beast truly was and find out its intentions, which was difficult to see in the dim light. She tried to will the room brighter where the beast stood. When it didn’t work, she reached over and turned on the overhead lamp and adjusted it to dim with the remote. The beast was crawling toward her. As rounded the bedpost, she saw small, collared holes, close to the scaly skin on the side of its head reflected in her full-length mirror. It had a long jaw, horse-like, but flattened around the mandible, lizard-like. Inside the beast’s mouth large, sharp, white teeth reflected in the moonlight. It had two strong back legs and thinner arm-like legs in front. It stopped at the foot of her bed to look around the room, showing no obvious signs that it had seen her yet. One of its sharply clawed hands grabbed the bedpost as it came around to her side of the room. Kay saw wings connected to its broad shoulders and a ridge of triangular shaped plates that ran down its back. The arrowhead-shaped tip of its muscular tail whipped back and forth as the beast moved toward her. It saw her sitting at her desk, raised up on its knees, and bellowed in a thick, baritone voice “Where is Diseeodis?” Unbelievable, it talks. That’s different. Kay realized she had never dreamed of a talking animal. But if it were a manifestation of Mr. Humbert, it would, wouldn’t it? Because he never shuts up. She stood up, cleared her throat, gave a shrug, and in a calm and polite tone, said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know that person.” Remembering her manners, she added, “Uh, Sir.” Then she forced a small polite smile. Dr. Ong’s treatment taught her nightmare individuals were more manageable when treated with calm, polite, and self-control behavior. “Did you not activate the time-space re-fracturer opening the portal between the Dragon Dimension and the Human Dimension so that Diseeodis could enter?” the beast interrogated. “Do not lie to me, for I will reduce your home and all within it to ash before your lie is complete!” Kay shuddered. Nightmare characters had threatened her, and she learned to keep her composure, but this one seemed so real and so dangerous. Now, she thought, it couldn’t be a mental representation of Mr. Humbert. She wondered; what could have caused her mind to create a dragon? Then she remembered her mom had brought home an old album, Comedy Caravan, from the Thrift Store where she worked. It had a bunch of old guys doing funny radio skits. One skit, called St. George and the Dragonet, was a detective story about a cop arresting a dragon. “Well? I need your answer, human. Now!” The dragon shouted. She tried to turn him into a Whip tail. No luck. “Please, Sir, I’m telling the truth. This is the weirdest nightmare I have ever had. I don’t know this Diseeodis dude, and I didn’t open any dimensional portal. The only portals I know about are in video games. I’d like to help you find your friend, but I don’t know how to help.” “Diseeodis is many things to me but assuredly not my friend,” the dragon replied vehemently. He moved his green scaly face close to hers and peered into her eyes. She was startled by the smell of smoke and garlic on his breath. She’d never had a dream smell so real. It was unnerving to have this giant face with its impressive set of teeth so close to her face. After a long look, she saw his eyes soften. He stood up with a thoughtful hum, nodded, and said, “I sense truth, human girl.” His eyes darted back and forth as if struggling with a complicated word problem. Finally, he said, “I am Jiuristus. I am tasked, by Queen Regina to retrieve Diseeodis and take him home.” “Who are Diseeodis and Queen Regina. I have never heard of them,” Kay said. “Queen Regina is the ruler of Criloune and Diseeodis has come into this dimension without permission and must be returned to the Dragon Dimension as soon as possible.” After another thoughtful pause he said, “Right then, there is nothing for it except to take you back with me. I think that would be the best course of action and the only one to satisfy the Queen.” Kay tried to change the beast into a large talking rabbit. Still nothing. Then she tried to get it to say, “Just kidding. Go back to what you were doing, and I will go home.” She had no control. A nauseating fear soured her stomach. This is a nightmare. It must be a nightmare. If it weren’t someone would have heard the noise and come by now. Should I run for the door? Could I even make it to the door? Being grabbed by those claws would hurt. But, as Dr. Ong says, nightmare can’t hurt you. But they do like to mess with you. When I open a door there will be another scary nightmare thing to deal with like an endless pit. Oh, great, now there will absolutely be an endless pit. Kay tried to clear her mind and think of something pleasant. Field of flowers, field of flowers, field of flowers. She decided to play along. “OK, you want to take me back. Take me back, where?” “I must take you through the portal to Criloune in the Dragon Dimension,” said Jiuristus. Dr. Ong said dreams are where movie ideas come from. She thought she’d like to see this in the theater, but she didn’t enjoy being in the scene. “Well, I don’t want to go with you. Is there another possibility? I mean it sounds like an adventure, but you should know I am not an adventurous person.” Kay said. Jiuristus’ head tilted, as if recalculating. “No, I cannot think of any other satisfactory course of action. If I leave you here, Queen Regina may think you have deceived me to protect Diseeodis. Plus, you may have information, even information you are unaware of. The Queen can extract such information, and it could give us the key to find Diseeodis,” said Jiuristus. “How will she extract information? Torture?” “No, not torture. Queen Regina can tap into your subconscious.” Finding the polite façade ineffectual, she tried a different strategy. Kay screamed, “Well, I am not going. So there!” she said balling her fists and stamping her foot. “Please, human girl. Please control yourself.” “I can’t go. I have a very important test tomorrow.” “You will be back before tomorrow. When you return, you will have missed no time. Unless, of course, you are misrepresenting the truth, in which case the temporary dimension will close without you, and you will not be returning,” Jiuristus assured her. “Well, I’m not lying!” she said, stamping her foot again. Feeling the boards under feet and the rush of adrenaline made her question the reality of the situation. She rejected reality and embraced the dream. “And I’m not going with you,” Kay said. “If you do not go your whole human race could be in grave danger. Diseeodis has come to the your dimension to take revenge for the slayings of the fifteenth century, and he must be found and taken back to our dimension before he can hurt anyone or everyone.” “What? The slayings of the fifteenth century. That was a long time ago. Why now?” Kay asked. “He wants to be King, and he thinks this will make him a hero,” Jiuristus said. “I am not asking you to help us catch him. I am only taking you back in case you can help with information that will help us catch him.” “OK. Let’s say I go with you. Will I be hurt?” Jiuristus’ face softened. “You will not be tortured, and you will not be hurt. You have my word, human girl. No one will hurt you, as long as you tell the truth.” “What if I just run, run to my parents, right now?” Jiuristus looked astonished. “I assumed you understood the state of things because you did not run when I showed myself. That is also why I assumed you were the operator.” He searched her eyes. “You really have no knowledge of dimensional laws? Interesting. If you had run, you would have frozen in the temporary dimension. Go, see for yourself, but stay close to me, or you will get frozen in time.” She ran into the hall and saw her mother and father coming out of their room. She called them. And they shouted “Kay,” in unison just before she felt the dragon’s hand on her shoulder pulling her backwards. As she fell, she heard Jiuristus say, “You got too far away and froze. I had to pull you back into the temporary dimension.” “I didn’t freeze. I saw my parents. See, right there. They spoke to me,” Kay said. Kay pointed at her parents and saw that her father was reaching out to her and her mother was tying her robe. But neither moved. “They were coming to save me,” Kay said under her breath. “You were outside of my dimensional bubble and fully in the Human Dimension. I pulled you back. Please do not get too close to them again. When you reanimate them and if they reanimate inside my dimensional time bubble and see me then I will have to take them to Criloune with us. With so many humans affected by this situation, I am not sure you all will be able to return.” “So, you are saying if I go, it will help save the Human Race, and I will be back before tomorrow but if they go, we will not be able to come back ever? That seems a bit random.” “You must take my word. Or you could reanimate your parents, I can take all of you, and we can see if you can return.” She wanted to claw him, but she was afraid he would claw back. Through the bedroom door Kay could see her father’s vintage alarm clock, on the nightstand which usually buzzed loudly and showed time by flipping the hours and minutes. But it was quiet, and the minute's flap was stuck midway between 2:00 and 2:01. Her hope that she would wake her parents and have this all end up in her sleep journal was waning. Kay ran to her brother Tom’s room. He was in a deep sleep and the family cat, Muscipula, was at the end of the bed frozen in the act of jumping off. Kay took a defeated breath then turned to Jiuristus. “I don’t understand what’s going on. But I want it to stop.” “Human girl, for you to return things to normal, you must come with me to see the Queen. She will make an assessment and may more fully explain what is happening. But the most important thing is that we go now if you want to get back before your big day tomorrow.” Dredging up every bit of self-control she had left she said, “My name is Kay Linda Taylor, not human girl, and you can call me Kay. What did you say your name was, Jee-your something?” Kay smiled to herself when she heard the phrase. He told her his name was Jiuristus. She tried to repeat it but stumbled. He told her to call him Jiuri. “OK, Jiuri. You promise to bring me back before tomorrow and my family will be, OK? And I will not be hurt?” “Yes, Kay, if you are telling the truth, I can assure that you will be returned safely to your family and that none of you will be harmed in any way.” He nudged her toward her room. As they faced the distortion, ready to step through, Kay asked if his ‘word’ was any good. “It seemed like you were here to kill me when you came into my room,” Kay said. “I did not intend to scare an innocent, I meant to scare the human who helped Diseeodis open the portal to your dimension. I will stand by my ‘word’ and will do everything in my power to return you to your home,” Jiuri said and his supportive, kind face made her unwittingly assured of his sincerity. “Wait,” Kay said. She turned up the overhead light, went to her closet, and closed the door. When she reappeared, she had changed into jeans, a light blue t-shirt, a cardigan, tennis shoes, and a jacket. “I don’t want to go through a portal to another dimension in my PJs.” As they prepared to enter the portal, Jiuri reached out for her hand. It was warm and soft. His long bulbous digits had claws the size of her fingers, which, because of the cautious way he held her hand, didn’t poke or scratch. Hand-in-hand with Jiuristis reminded her of crossing the street with her mother when she was little. But, unlike her mother’s, the dragon’s thumbs had no center joint and was conspicuously smaller than the other three fingers. Her gaze followed the arm up, up, up. In the now lit room she saw that most of his body was covered in iridescent green scales, each no larger than the head of a tack. His chest scales were three times larger, teardrop-shaped with a raised center shaft from which a rainbow of colored lines extended, like feather barbs, and soft white down peeked out here and there. She wanted to touch them to see if the scales would separate like feathers. Jiuri’s wing feathers were long, green, and red, tipped with royal blue. In sum, a cross between a lizard or snake and a bird. She thought, maybe I should use Ong’s dream trick to turn him into a real bird-snake or maybe I should try the pinch test. The pinch test she’d learned long before Dr. Ong nightmare therapy, and she knew that if she felt the pinch she this was not a dream. Kay decided not to try either. She thought it best to keep believing it could be a dream, if only to prevent fear from taking control. Because if this was real, she would have to accept the fact that she was leaving her home and family to go to an unknown place, a place unimaginable on any map, with a beast by means of an unknown transportation. Her eyes and nose pinched, and she could feel clouds gathering in her eyes preparing for a storm. Her hands were clammy, and her stomach felt as if it had flipped. If she couldn’t control the environment, she would have to control herself. She blinked the tempest away, took a deep breath, and smiled, encouraging herself to enjoy the story her mind was creating as they stepped into the distortion.
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