Page 37 of Rejected By Dragons

"Yup, just need to let it cool for a bit." She looks to me. "Can I get you some breakfast? Coffee?"

I want to demur, but my growling stomach gives me away. "Coffee would be great. And maybe a little something to eat, if it's not too much trouble."

She waves a hand dismissively. "No bother at all." She grabs a mug from the cupboard over the sink and fills it from a stainless steel carafe. She sets the mug down on the island and pushes a ceramic jar of sugar, a little pitcher of cream and a spoon my way. "I promise my coffee brewing is better than my potion brewing."

"Not having much luck?" I ask, eying the vial.

"Well, this is batch four, so..."

I wince sympathetically and doctor my coffee with a spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream. I take a sip and sigh with contentment. It's perfect. "In any case, your coffee sets a mighty high bar."

"Glad you like." She's migrated over to the other side of the kitchen and gently scooted some vines out of the way to open a little pantry. "Cereal okay?" She rattles off a couple of options, and I choose my favorite. She hands me a box and gets me a bowl. "Milk is in the fridge."

"Thank you." I help myself and take a seat at one of the stools beside the island. As she returns to puttering around the kitchen, I poke at my cereal with my spoon in contemplation. Yesterday, it occurred to me how unusual it is for somebody of dragon descent to even dabble in the witchly arts. I furrow my brow and choose my words carefully. "How did you get into that?" I ask after a beat. "Potions and all."

"Oh," she says, matter of fact. "My dad was sort of a wizard."

I manage not to spit cereal all over her nice countertops. "Was he, now?"

"Weird, I know." She rolls her eyes and gestures out the window in the vague direction of the town center where I made my grand entrance. "You probably guessed that Jett and I are only half-siblings."

"I mean..."

He is Black, and she's white. That was kind of a tip-off, but I didn't want to be weird about it.

"My mom was in this, like, commune-type thing back before the wars. Very hippy-dippy free-love and all. She talks about it like it's no big deal, but she was in this open relationship with five guys." She starts counting on her fingers as if this is all very normal. "A Fire Dragon--that was Jett's dad, by the way. An Air Dragon, a Water Dragon, a bear shifter and a wizard."

I blink rapidly, trying to keep my voice even, but it's a losing battle. "Wow. That's quite the assortment."

"Right?" She laughs and shakes her head. "I think they had some ecstasy-potion-fueled dreams about fulfilling those ancient prophecies about uniting the dragon kingdoms and 'bringing light to shadow' or whatever."

My heart skips a beat. I set my spoon down.

For a second, I'm in danger of getting sucked deep into old memories. Those were the stories my own mother and father used to tell. The kind you find in discarded books of fairy tales. No one takes them seriously.

And yet... Those were the stories my mom recited the night before she left me. For years, I blanked it out. I thought it was a coincidence. She loved those tales and so did I. Why wouldn't we share them on our last night together?

A pang fires off in my chest. Did she know? Even then, sitting in that little room in my aunt's house, was she aware that she might never come back?

Was she preparing me?

That doesn't even make any sense, and yet... This feels like a clue. The first one I've had in a long and lonely decade.

"Did they really think that was possible?" I ask, my throat tight.

She catches the odd tone in my voice, looking at me with a furrow between her brows. She doesn't call me on it, though. "I don't know. I mean, banging a bear and a wizard definitely weren't part of the myths, so they clearly weren't taking them too literally? But maybe. You'll have to ask her."

Right. I want to roll my eyes. That's absolutely the kind of thing you bring up with someone you barely know.

Even as I'm mentally scoffing at the very idea, there's another, competing spark inside my chest. The strange looks Rhiannon was giving me out in the center square yesterday take on a new meaning. If she believes in those old stories...

Could Amy's mom have some of the answers to the questions my own mother left me with when she abandoned me as a child? It seems too much to hope that she could give me any insight into what happened to my mom and dad, and I try not to let myself get too carried away.

Besides. It's impossible to miss that everything Amy is saying is phrased in a firm past tense.

Again, taking care with my phrasing, I ask, "You said this was all before..."

I wave my hand around expansively, trying to encompass everything that's happened since we were kids. Before the wars, before the walls went up, before an entire kingdom disappeared off the map and the Shadow Dragons retreated underground...

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