Chapter 3 The Dragon Ate My Keys
The dragon hit me directly in the chest.
For something small enough to fit inside a book, it had an impressive amount of commitment.
I screamed, stumbled backward, and grabbed at the first thing my hands found, which unfortunately happened to be Henry.
He caught me around the waist before I hit the floor.
The dragon scrambled up my sweater.
“Get it off!”
“Remain still.”
“Easy for you to say!”
“I am attempting to help.”
“You have a sword!”
“Yes.”
“Do not stab the dragon while it’s attached to me!”
Henry paused.
Apparently that possibility had absolutely crossed his mind.
The tiny creature climbed onto my shoulder, planted four sharp little feet against me, and hissed directly into my ear.
Warm smoke curled through my hair.
I stopped moving.
Henry stopped moving.
The dragon stopped moving.
For one wonderfully peaceful second, all three of us seemed to recognize that nobody knew what the hell happened next.
Then the dragon sneezed.
A tiny flame shot past my face.
I screamed again.
Henry swung.
I ducked.
His sword sliced through the air above my head while the dragon launched itself from my shoulder.
It flew across the store in a blur of green wings and landed on top of the history shelves.
“Henry!”
“I missed.”
“I noticed!”
“That was intentional.”
“You almost removed my head.”
“I adjusted.”
“At the last fucking second!”
The dragon chirped from above us.
Not growled.
Chirped.
The sound was unbearably cute considering it had almost set my eyebrows on fire.
Henry glared upward.
“Come down.”
The dragon tilted its head.
Henry pointed his sword.
“You will come down immediately.”
I stared at him.
“Has commanding wild animals historically worked for you?”
“It is a dragon.”
“I’m aware.”
“Dragons understand authority.”
The little dragon leaned over the shelf and dropped something.
It hit Henry directly on the helmet he’d put back on before leaving the office.
Clink.
Henry looked down.
A silver bookmark lay at his feet.
I covered my mouth.
The dragon made another chirping sound.
I was almost certain it was laughing.
Henry slowly removed his helmet.
“You find this amusing?”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
He looked at me.
I lost it.
I laughed so hard I had to grab the edge of a shelf.
The absurdity of the night finally broke something inside me.
My grandmother was dead.
I owned a failing bookstore.
A knight from 1782 had climbed out of an unfinished novel.
And now a tiny dragon was throwing bookmarks at him.
There came a point where panic simply ran out of room.
Henry did not laugh.
That made it worse.
“I apologize.”
“You do not.”
“I really don’t.”
The dragon hopped along the top shelf.
Its wings were almost translucent along the edges, thin membranes glowing softly beneath the store lights. Its scales were dark green along its back and lighter near its belly, with little bronze-colored ridges running from the top of its head to the tip of its tail. Two horns curled backward above golden eyes that were currently fixed on Henry with deep suspicion.
It was beautiful.
Which was inconvenient.
Beautiful things made terrible decisions easier to justify.
I stepped closer.
Henry immediately put an arm across my path.
“No.”
“I’m just looking.”
“It breathed fire.”
“It sneezed fire.”
“That distinction will comfort you tremendously if your clothing ignites.”
“Fair.”
The dragon moved again.
Something flashed between its teeth.
I squinted.
“Is that my key?”
Henry looked.
The dragon had my ring of keys hanging from its mouth.
The brass key to the bookstore.
Apartment key.
Buick key.
Office key.
Every key Evelyn had left me.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
The dragon’s eyes widened.
“Give me those.”
It backed away.
“Don’t.”
It took another step.
“Henry.”
“I see.”
“Do something.”
“You objected when I attempted to kill it.”
“I objected when you attempted to kill me with it.”
“That complicates matters.”
The dragon suddenly opened its wings.
“No.”
It jumped.
I lunged.
Henry lunged.
The dragon flew over both of us.
My fingers closed on empty air.
Henry crashed shoulder-first into the shelf.
Several books fell on him.
The dragon sailed toward the front counter.
“Stop it!”
“How?”
“You’re the dragon expert!”
“I have killed dragons.”
“That is not the same skill set!”
The creature landed directly beside Evelyn’s old register.
My keys jingled between its teeth.
I approached slowly.
“Okay.”
Henry groaned behind me.
“You use that word excessively.”
“Not helping.”
I crouched several feet away.
The dragon watched me.
“You want the keys?”
It blinked.
“Obviously you do, because you have them.”
Another blink.
“You know what? We’re starting over.”
Henry extracted himself from the fallen books.
“What exactly do you intend?”
“I’m negotiating.”
“With a beast.”
“With a thief.”
The dragon’s ears, or whatever the small fin-like things beside its horns were, twitched.
I pointed at it.
“You stole from me.”
Henry joined me.
“It is behaving like a dragon.”
“What does that mean?”
“They collect valuables.”
“They hoard?”
“Yes.”
“Of course they do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
I looked around for something shiny.
The register bell caught my attention.
Small.
Brass.
Polished from decades of customers slapping it despite the sign Evelyn kept beside it that said:
I CAN HEAR YOU. STOP HITTING THE BELL.
I picked it up.
The dragon immediately focused on my hand.
“Oh.”
I smiled.
“You like shiny things.”
Henry frowned.
“All dragons do.”
“You could’ve mentioned that.”
“I assumed everyone knew.”
“Dragons are fictional where I come from.”
He gestured around the room.
“You may wish to reconsider your definition of fictional.”
Fair.
I held up the bell.
The dragon leaned forward.
“You want this?”
Its tail moved.
Not exactly wagging.
But close.
I placed the bell on the counter between us.
“Trade.”
The dragon looked at the bell.
Then the keys.
Then me.
Its mouth opened.
The keys dropped.
“Yes.”
It grabbed the bell.
I lunged for my keys.
The dragon snatched them back before I reached them.
Then grabbed the bell too.
It launched into the air carrying both.
I stared after it.
Henry made a sound suspiciously close to laughter.
I slowly turned.
“Was that funny?”
“No.”
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“My face moved.”
“That is generally how smiling works.”
The dragon disappeared between the shelves.
My keys jingled mockingly from somewhere near travel.
I marched after it.
Henry followed.
“This is beneath me.”
“You’re helping.”
“I am a knight of Bellhaven.”
“You’re a man chasing a lizard through a bookstore.”
“It is not a lizard.”
“Tell that to my keys.”
We found the dragon perched on a shelf in biographies.
The brass bell sat beside it.
My keys were beneath one claw.
It had apparently established a treasury.
I crossed my arms.
“New strategy.”
Henry sighed.
“You have had one strategy.”
“It almost worked.”
“It failed entirely.”
“Details.”
I searched the nearby shelves and displays.
The dragon watched every movement.
Then I remembered the box of Christmas decorations I’d found earlier beneath the counter.
Evelyn decorated the store every December with an alarming number of handmade ornaments.
Most looked like tiny books.
Some were stars.
Several were painted bells.
And one was a mirrored glass ball.
Very shiny.
“Stay here.”
Henry looked offended.
“I have no intention of going anywhere.”
“Good.”
I hurried toward the storage closet.
The dragon followed me from shelf to shelf.
I could hear tiny claws clicking on wood overhead.
“You sneaky little criminal.”
Chirp.
“I heard that.”
I found the box beneath old wrapping paper.
The mirrored ornament sat near the top.
Perfect.
I lifted it.
Warm light reflected across its surface.
The dragon dropped from the shelf.
Henry drew his sword.
“Put that away.”
“It is approaching.”
“That is the point.”
“It wants what you hold.”
“Yes.”
“Then it may take your hand with it.”
I glared at him.
“Could you maybe contribute optimism?”
“No.”
“Fantastic.”
The dragon landed on an overturned crate.
I lowered myself slowly.
“Hi.”
It stared at the ornament.
“Want this?”
Its wings tucked against its body.
I held the ornament closer.
The dragon extended its neck.
“One little trade.”
I pointed toward the keys.
“You give me those.”
The dragon looked toward its feet.
Then back at the ornament.
I moved the ornament slightly.
Golden eyes followed.
“Come on.”
One claw lifted from the keys.
Then the other.
I reached slowly.
The dragon hissed.
I stopped.
“Fine.”
I pushed the ornament across the floor.
It rolled toward the creature.
The dragon pounced.
I grabbed the keys.
Victory.
“Ha!”
The dragon immediately looked up.
I shoved the keys into my pocket.
“You lost fair and square.”
It stared at me.
Then at my pocket.
“No.”
Its nostrils smoked.
“Don’t.”
Henry grabbed my arm.
“Move.”
The dragon sneezed.
A tiny burst of flame shot across the floor.
I jumped sideways.
The mirrored ornament rolled away.
The dragon chased it.
Henry stomped out the small flame with his boot.
We both stared at the black mark on Evelyn’s floor.
“I am not explaining that to the insurance company.”
“What is an insurance company?”
“People who take your money and become strangely unavailable when you need it.”
“Ah.”
I looked at him.
“That made sense to you?”
“We had nobility.”
I laughed again.
The dragon caught the ornament beneath a table.
It curled around the glass ball like a tiny green cat protecting prey.
Henry watched it carefully.
“It is young.”
“How can you tell?”
“The horns.”
I looked at him.
“You really have seen dragons.”
His expression shifted.
“Yes.”
“In Bellhaven?”
“Yes.”
“Were they common?”
“No.”
“Dangerous?”
“Very.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked toward the tiny creature.
It was currently admiring its reflection.
“This one doesn’t look particularly dangerous.”
“It nearly burned your face.”
“So has my oven.”
Henry clearly had no response for that.
I stepped closer.
The dragon tensed but didn’t flee.
“Do you think it came from the same book as you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“There were no dragons in the Chronicle.”
“You just said Bellhaven had dragons.”
“Not in my story.”
That phrasing made me stop.
“My story.”
Henry seemed to hear it too.
He looked away.
I crouched.
The green book lay near the fantasy shelves where it had fallen.
Unlike Henry’s book, it had a title engraved into the cover.
Tiny gold letters.
I picked it up carefully.
The Last Dragon of Willowmere
Henry came closer.
“Willowmere.”
“You know it?”
“No.”
I opened the cover.
He immediately stepped back.
“Wait.”
“Relax. It’s already open.”
“It is daylight nowhere.”
I checked the clock.
12:14 a.m.
Right.
Still night.
“Good point.”
I closed it.
Nothing happened.
The dragon remained beneath the table.
“Great. So closing books doesn’t suck creatures back inside.”
“I do not believe that is how it works.”
“You’re really useful for someone who has apparently done this before.”
“I told you I do not remember.”
“Convenient.”
His jaw tightened.
“That was unkind.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
I glanced at him.
Henry wasn’t angry.
Not really.
He looked tired.
Lost again.
“Sorry.”
He nodded.
We stood in silence.
Then the dragon crawled from beneath the table.
Still holding the ornament.
It approached me.
Henry reached for his sword.
I held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
The dragon stopped near my shoe.
Its head tilted.
I lowered myself carefully.
“Hi again.”
It looked at my pocket.
“My keys are not negotiable.”
It chirped.
“You’re a criminal.”
Another chirp.
“Honestly, I respect that.”
Henry sighed behind me.
I held out one finger.
The dragon sniffed it.
Its nose was warm.
Then it bumped its forehead against my hand.
I froze.
“Oh.”
Henry stepped closer.
“That is unusual.”
“Good unusual?”
“No.”
“Love your energy.”
The dragon rubbed its head against my fingers.
Tiny scales felt surprisingly smooth.
I scratched gently beneath its chin.
Its eyes closed.
A sound rumbled inside its chest.
I stared.
“Is it purring?”
“Dragons do not purr.”
The dragon purred louder.
Henry looked personally offended.
I smiled.
“Well, this one does.”
I sat cross-legged on the floor.
The dragon climbed into my lap.
The mirrored ornament remained trapped between its front claws.
Henry lowered his sword.
“You should not encourage it.”
“It’s adorable.”
“It is a predator.”
“So is the cat.”
As if summoned by insult, the gray cat appeared.
He walked slowly into the aisle.
The dragon’s eyes opened.
The cat stopped.
The dragon stopped purring.
I looked between them.
“Oh, no.”
Henry backed up.
“You may want to move.”
“Why?”
The cat hissed.
The dragon hissed.
Tiny smoke clouds appeared.
“No.”
The cat’s tail doubled in size.
The dragon spread its wings.
“No fighting.”
Neither listened.
I grabbed the dragon around its middle just as it lunged.
The cat bolted.
The dragon flapped wildly in my arms.
“Stop!”
Henry actually laughed this time.
I looked at him.
“You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“Traitor.”
The dragon twisted around and bit the end of my sweater sleeve.
Not hard.
Just enough to make its opinion known.
“Rude.”
I shifted it against my chest.
It settled almost immediately.
Henry frowned.
“It likes you.”
“I’m lovable.”
“I have not observed sufficient evidence.”
“You threatened me with a sword within thirty seconds of meeting me. Your data is flawed.”
That almost made him smile again.
I looked down at the dragon.
“We need a name.”
“No.”
I looked at Henry.
“What?”
“You cannot name it.”
“Why?”
“Names create attachment.”
“Correct.”
“You do not know whether it can remain here.”
“Neither do you.”
“Anna.”
“Henry.”
He groaned.
I studied the dragon.
Small.
Green.
Shiny-object criminal.
Its claws rested around the mirrored ornament like it owned every reflective surface in America.
“Emerald?”
Henry looked relieved.
“At least that possesses some dignity.”
The dragon bit my sleeve again.
“No.”
“Jade?”
Chirp.
“No.”
“Pickle?”
Henry looked horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
I laughed.
The dragon tilted its head.
Then I noticed the little brass button on my sweater.
One had gone missing.
I searched the floor.
Nothing.
Then the dragon opened its mouth.
My button sat between its teeth.
“You stole my button.”
It swallowed.
“Oh my God.”
Henry stared.
I stared.
The dragon blinked innocently.
“You ate it.”
Chirp.
I looked at Henry.
“Button.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot name a dragon Button.”
“Watch me.”
“It is degrading.”
“His first act was stealing my keys and eating my clothing.”
“You do not even know whether it is male.”
I looked at the dragon.
“Good point.”
I lifted it slightly.
Henry immediately turned around.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking.”
“Have some dignity.”
“It’s a dragon.”
“It is still indecent.”
“You fought wars.”
“I had standards.”
I rolled my eyes and lowered Button.
“We’ll figure that out later.”
The dragon climbed back into my lap.
Button it was.
At least provisionally.
Henry muttered something under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You hate the name.”
“It is an insult to dragonkind.”
“Excellent.”
I stood carefully.
Button climbed up my sweater and settled across my shoulders.
Henry stared.
“What?”
“It should not do that.”
“You say that about everything.”
“Because everything occurring tonight should not be occurring.”
That was fair.
We returned to the front of the store.
The clock read 12:37.
I suddenly felt all thirty-two years of my life at once.
My feet hurt.
My head hurt.
My grandmother was dead.
My bookstore apparently leaked fictional people after sunset.
There was a knight standing beside contemporary romance.
A dragon lived on my shoulder.
And tomorrow morning the shop was supposed to open at nine.
I laughed weakly.
Henry looked concerned.
“What?”
“I have customers coming in eight hours.”
He looked around.
“Customers.”
“People buying books.”
“Yes.”
“They cannot see you.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Why?”
“Because you’re wearing armor.”
“I fail to see the problem.”
“You’re from 1782.”
“You keep saying that as though it reflects poorly upon me.”
“And Button is a dragon.”
The little creature chirped at its name.
Henry’s face fell.
“He responded.”
“He loves it.”
“He does not.”
Button chirped again.
“See?”
Henry looked betrayed.
I walked toward the counter.
“We need somewhere to hide you.”
“I will not hide.”
“Then we need a believable explanation.”
“For what?”
I gestured at him.
“All of that.”
He looked down at himself.
“I am dressed appropriately.”
“Sure.”
I pointed at Button.
“And what about him?”
Henry looked at the dragon.
“We could claim he is an unusually ugly bird.”
I stared.
“That was your idea?”
“Yes.”
“Your imagination was written in 1782 too.”
Button climbed from my shoulder onto the counter.
The brass register bell was gone.
I stopped.
“Where’s the bell?”
Button stared at me.
“Button.”
Nothing.
“Did you steal it again?”
The dragon looked away.
Henry crossed his arms.
“I warned you.”
“You supported the name five seconds ago.”
“I absolutely did not.”
I searched around the register.
No bell.
Then Button launched upward and vanished toward the ceiling.
“Hey!”
A metallic clink followed.
The bell dropped from somewhere above and landed on the counter.
Then something else fell.
A bookmark.
Then a teaspoon.
Then three coins.
Then one of Evelyn’s earrings.
I froze.
Button had made a hoard.
In the ceiling.
“Great.”
Henry looked up.
“He has chosen territory.”
“Wonderful.”
Another object dropped.
A small brass key.
Not mine.
I picked it up.
Old.
Heavy.
A number had been etched into the metal.
17
Henry leaned closer.
“Is that yours?”
“No.”
I turned it over.
Tiny letters were engraved along the back.
E.B.
Evelyn Brooks.
My pulse shifted.
Button poked his head down through a gap near the ceiling.
I held up the key.
“Where did you find this?”
He chirped.
“I hate that I asked.”
Henry looked toward Evelyn’s office.
“Perhaps your grandmother intended you to find it.”
“Through a dragon?”
“She appears to have enjoyed complicated methods.”
“You knew her for approximately five minutes and already understand her.”
I closed my fist around the key.
Seventeen.
There were no numbered doors in the bookstore.
At least none I knew about.
I looked toward the shelves.
Something creaked.
Not from above us.
Behind us.
Henry turned.
I turned.
The sound came from the mystery section.
One shelf seemed darker than the others.
The lamps nearest it flickered.
Then a man spoke from somewhere between the books.
“Evelyn?”
Henry drew his sword.
Button vanished into the ceiling.
I tightened my grip around the key.
A translucent hand appeared through the shelf.
Then an arm.
Then the shape of a man wearing a dark suit and an old-fashioned fedora stepped straight through solid wood.
He stopped when he saw me.
Confusion crossed his pale, almost transparent face.
He looked toward Henry.
Then the scattered books.
Then the ceiling where Button had disappeared.
Finally, his eyes returned to me.
“You’re not Evelyn.”
I swallowed.
“No.”
The ghost removed his hat.
“Then I believe,” he said, looking around the bookstore, “we may have a rather serious problem.”
