Page 23 of The Witch & the Dragon

She dreamed, at first, of flying through the air, but not on a dragon’s back – as an actual dragon. She looked on either side of her, and her wings were gossamer and see-through, unlike anything Chloe had seen depicted in the books and from what Tiran described. The ghostly wings were silent, like the soft feathers that blanketed an owl’s flight, and in the sky above, the stars were so bright that they seemed more like spotlights. The light warmed her skin, and it was as if she drank fuel from the stars themselves to keep herself running.

A mountain loomed ahead, and a sense of belonging welled inside her breast. This mountain was home. The people here were home, and the wildlife that lingered was home as well.

She swooped down, and a large, gnarled tree seemed to reach for her; it opened its trunk wide, and she flew right through into a strange clearing where the dryad that gave her the blessing waited. Landing before the dryad, she separated from the wings and the sensation of power and now saw two things – the dryad, with her woven, bark-like form, and an ethereal, transparent dragon that seemed to disappear into darkness when she squinted too hard.

The dryad and the transparent dragon faced one another, two strange beings from completely different places, eyeing one another with both respect and wariness.

“So, you are the one who gifted the human your magic,” the dragon said, and its voice carried an ageless quality that was neither male nor female. “I sensed the magic.”

“And you brought me here, into this dream,” the dryad replied, suspicious but with open body language.

“I require the use of it,” the dragon said. “I will take it for my own, for the human sleeps on my mountain.”

“It is a gift,” the dryad hissed, its dark eyes wide in incredulity. “If you steal, we will have a problem.”

“We can arrange a deal between us.”

The dryad scowled, but now they both looked at Chloe, who felt like an intruder in this far-too-vivid dream.

“Human,” the dragon said. “When you wake up, your pendant will be gone.”

Chloe gasped, now no longer sure this was a dream at all. “You’re stealing from me? What are you?” Even as she said that, the site of the shrine crossed her mind. She saw Tiran leave the offerings to the Old Spirit, a draconic ancestor.

“The will that you and my child both seek,” the dragon said, “is hidden in the very cabin you slumber in. It is a secret spot, untouched by any except for those to whom the cabin once belonged. This is part of the help I can offer. The other help is harder. The Unseelie Court appears to be meddling in affairs they shouldn’t be.”

The dryad hissed again, and purple and red flowers began to bloom over her branches. “They long swore they would not!”

“I believe it is a rogue member. This one made a contract, killed two of my children, and attempted to use a dangerous glamour on a third one. Since this third child still lives, most likely, they will attempt it again. I will place an anti-glamour charm on both my child and you, Chloe.” His silvery eyes burned holes into Chloe. “My price is your pendant. And I already know you will accept.”

Something in that irked her. “You know, you could just… ask rather than just say you’re taking it.”

The Old Spirit grinned, showing sharp, ghostly teeth. The dryad, however, continued growing twisted, dark-colored flowers as if a fury was brewing within.

“The Unseelie Court. Rogue or not – my forest has been in danger recently. Ghosts, black with malice, stirring. It was why I required this human’s intuition. Could it be the Unseelie?”

“It might be. Your forest is of no concern to me; only my mountain is. But what I can say is that the Unseelie dabble in dangerous glamours, and their magic has a corrupting influence on the mortal souls. Alive or dead. It was partly why they agreed to an accord so many years ago. They did not wish to stain our world with their dark deals. Even the witch, Baba Yaga, would spit on them, and her own brand of magic is malicious in its own right.”

“The Morrigan might or might not know.” The dryad looked thoughtful, some of the anger cooling. “But she has been inactive for some time. I last saw her two hundred years ago, and she was already withdrawing from mortal affairs then.”

“Morrigan is not the answer.” The Old Spirit glared before turning back to Chloe once more. “Your magic will be chaotic once again. The future is chaos, though, and should not ever be delved into too much. It wears the soul thin.” There was the merest trace of a warning behind that, and Chloe had the sudden, cold suspicion that perhaps the dryad had not been entirely truthful in her gift. She didn’t voice the suspicion, however, and watched as the dryad slunk into the grass, leaving just her and the Old Spirit.

“Are you appearing to Tiran in his dream? He asked for you.”

“I am not.” The Old Spirit gave her a rather critical glance. “You will pass on the message of the will hidden in that place and of an agent of the Unseelie Court, working with that treacherous slime of a child who has harmed their own. And of the anti-glamour.”

“What about Professor Umber? Was he in on the plot?”

“No.” The Old Spirit’s large, shimmering wings spread out, engulfing almost the entire clearing. “Just an unwitting carrier of a venomous message. I leave you now to your sleep. You will remember everything when you wake.”

The clearing faded, as did the Old Spirit, and Chloe’s dreams stilled into sweet darkness and blissful rest.

Chapter Eight – Tiran

Tiran didn’t plan on this happening. He wanted to show Chloe something sacred to him – the memories of a happier time when much of what she had experienced concerned his sorrow. Then he got the bright idea to make the stew, and then she wanted to stay, and then… that happened.

He shivered in delight, feeling a lot more positive and happier about things than before. Almost as if a fog in his mind had cleared, and the world somehow looked brighter, holding more colors than he remembered. He stared at the sleeping form of Chloe, taking quiet breaths, his eyes tracing over her messy blond hair, her relaxed features, and the way she curled lay on her hands. He smiled, allowing the warmth of the memories from last night to bathe his mind before trying to slither out of bed without disturbing the covers too much or waking her up.

It ended up being a sort of awkward snake crawl to the ground, and he left the room, pushing the door open just enough so that it wouldn’t do that accursed squeak, and prepared for a light breakfast and coffee. He wanted to do a little jaunty whistle as well, except he couldn’t whistle to save his life, so it always came out as a sort of distorted high-pitched wind noise.

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