Page 33 of Catastrophe

“He’s going to fly away,” Laurence muttered. “Do you want me to …” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I knew what he was going to say.

“No. Leave him. Watch.” I told them with a confidence I didn’t feel and held my breath as I watched.

But Charlie’s wings didn’t lift or flutter to catch the breeze from the coast. Instead, he breathed fire into the sand and turned in a slow circle. The sand burned bright red and glowed as it turned into molten glass. And then he curled up inside the small transparent fortress and closed his eyes, completely ignoring us.

“He’s … sleeping?” Sigurd whispered, disbelieving.

We watched for a few more moments as the dragon sighed deeply, flipped his tail to cover his eyes, and settled into his makeshift nest. I didn’t trust he was entirely asleep, so I didn’t approach him. “He’s probably worn out. Flying and trying to protect themselves would tire any new shifter.”

“And you are sure it is Charlie and not Fafnir?” Sigurd asked, his confusion apparent, but that only made me more suspicious. He didn’t seem to want to hurt Charlie, only Fafnir, but how could he not know what his enemy looked like?

“Would Fafnir have curled up to sleep only a little way away from us?” I asked and leaned against a tree for the second part of my interrogation. “Why do you not recognize Fafnir’s dragon?”

“I do recognize him.” He scoffed but glanced at the sleeping dragon, then admitted with a sigh, “But perhaps my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Somehow, I prevented myself from rolling my eyes. “Your body was healed to the start of adulthood. Your eyes are fine.”

“I know you aren’t accusing the protector of being a traitor,” Laurence growled. His disapproval was apparent as he crossed his arms and frowned. But I didn’t know this witch, and I couldn’t have cared less about his opinion of me.

With a smirk I replied, “I’m not, but it’s interesting your mind went to that first.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything, so don’t turn this on me,” Laurence spluttered. “It’s you interrogating him like a criminal.”

“That’s reaching. My interrogation tactics are far bloodier.” My smile was cruel and displayed my fangs, the threat obvious.

“Let us not argue,” Savida implored, his wings flapping nervously.

His gaze darted toward the snoring dragon behind us, and I sighed. It was wise not to wake the sleeping beast with a fight. Not that there would be much of one.

“I would also rather we didn’t. However, I’m concerned you’re blinded by the myths surrounding this man and aren’t looking into his suspicious behavior.”

The others glanced at each other as Sigurd choked on his words before shouting, “What suspicious behavior do you have on your list? I’ve interacted with you only twice!”

“And both times, you’ve alerted my suspicions,” I stated. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about my question? And why is it you could answer it? I am not your family.”

When Sigurd’s face only displayed confusion and didn’t crumble into guilt, I knew he had never even thought about it. He replied slowly, “I’m not sure why I could answer your question about the natural portals. Perhaps it is because you were already aware of them. And I didn’t tell anyone about our interaction because you told me not to.”

“But after you found out I was possessed? You didn’t think my question was strange? That our conversation was strange?” I pressed.

“Y-Yes, well, there was a lot going on,” he stuttered.

With the others watching, I asked, “Why do you not know Fafnir’s dragon form?”

His bravado faltered, and he sighed as he admitted, “I may have forgotten it. It’s been many centuries. You cannot understand the strain I am under. I’m so much to these people—the protector, the savior. I want to help them, but I fear my death, this unnatural state of being, is making me unwell and unable to fight. Even my spell was so weak.”

Forgotten it? Forgotten the form of a man you vowed to chase beyond death? Forgotten the form you saw in your final moments? No. That must be a lie.

But if it was a lie, what other reason would he have for being unable to recognize his enemy? I didn’t believe he was a threat to Charlie, since it was clear he didn’t even know the dragon was Charlie, but why would he attack any old dragon?

Unless he was an imposter. Not Sigurd the protector at all, and instead someone else. A replacement. A hunter? Would an imposter know they were an imposter if someone else had placed them there? And where would the real Sigurd be if that were true?

But perhaps my assumptions were wildly off base, because his voice rang with honesty as he spoke about the pressure he was under. I knew the lengths the witches had gone to bring back their famed defender and how desperate they were for hope against the otherworlders kidnapping humans from this realm.

But there was no doubt in my mind that there was more to his story than we knew, and time would tell whether it was a dangerous omission or a harmless falsehood. Regardless, I would keep a close eye on him. To be brought back to life goes against the laws of nature, and that in itself must warp a person. Perhaps he wasn’t aligned to his purpose anymore.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize silence had descended upon us like a shroud of fog. I observed the others gazing at the protector with the same, or a similar, confused expression I had. Sigurd kept his head bowed and his eyes on his feet.

I didn’t want him to be any more aware of my suspicions, so I pretended to believe him.

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