My twenty-first birthday came and went while I was in Antarctica. I’ve never had a sip of legal alcohol. Still wouldn’t be able to if they carded me. Got no card to give. And under this shaggy beard, I don’t look much older than when I left even if I feel ancient.
Adrian’s truck spurts out a plume of black exhaust as he drives off, and I fixate on the sign on Fresh Feathers’ front door.
Closed.
Disappointment bows my shoulders, but as I turn toward the steps leading to the apartment, the ringing of a bell stops me. Esme emerges from the shop, carrying a backpack, keys, and my bloody, aching heart.
She doesn’t know about that last one though.
“Lee!” The harpy grins wide, gold eyes sparkling as if I’m some kind of beautiful view. Gods, this whole town must be in love with her by now if this is how she approaches strangers. “Done working for the day?”
“Yeah.” I glance down and realize I have a light layer of sawdust coating my skin.
Not that I mind. Just a sign that I have a job, that I’m contributing to a community Iwantto be a part of. I don’t have to deal with the shame of squatting in her apartment anymore. Since I don’t have an identity as far as anyone is concerned, Bardo is paying me under the table, and I was able to start right away. He made it clear he’s giving me the amount the other workers get after their taxes are subtracted, and the taxes he’d normally pay, he’s donating to the town’s Mythic Council.
Even if I don’t trust him enough to tell him my real name, I’ve got to admit, he’s a stand-up guy.
“How’s the apartment working out? Hopefully better than crashing on Xavier’s couch at least.”
I nod. “He has pinball machines.” Talking gets easier every day—especially around her—but I still keep my words as minimal as possible. “Loud ones.”
“Oh goddess, I almost forgot.” Esme chuckles, and I lean forward at the sound. “His hoard must be huge by now. Such an oddly specific thing for a dragon to grow attached to, but whatever works for the guy.” The harpy tilts her head, thegesture quick and birdlike. “And are you creating a hoard of your own odd objects upstairs?”
I shake my head, wishing I could give a different answer. Name something that would make her smile, make her laugh, make her fall in love with the shell of a man I’ve become.
But nothing draws me, except for her. Not all dragons hoard, but a lot of our kind do. My father hoarded something more traditional—money.
Despite the comfortable life it gave me for my first eighteen years, I’m glad I don’t have the same compulsion. Especially after the expectations he had for how I would pay him back for the support from his hoard.
“Sorry, that was probably a personal question. Ignore my nosiness.” Esme hooks her thumbs in the straps of her backpack, looking more like a college student in that moment than a woman in her late thirties. “Any plans for the evening?”
Only if attempting to make edible food from a recipe in theCooking for Beginnersbook I picked up off Never Judge a Cover’s bargain shelf counts. The siren who owns the local bookshop has been helping me find how-to books for the skills I forgot or never had.
If only there was aWooing a Harpy for Beginners.
I shrug. “Shower. Eat.”Think about you.
No doubt that pity for the strange, boring dragon with no life prompts her next question.
“Do you want to come with me to my favorite place in the world?”
4
Eighteen Years Old
Cold.
It’s the first sensation I register when I wake up. The chill makes no sense to my sleep-muddled mind and even less as hazy half dreams fade.
Did the AC go into hyperdrive? Early fall in Georgia still means heavy, humid air, which causes the sheets to cling to my skin, so I normally wake up with an urge to take a shower. This dry, frigid sensation isn’t exactly uncomfortable. The mystical fire that always burns in my chest and hands keeps my body toasty, even in winter.
The discomfort comes from the strangeness.
Why am I cold when I should be hot?
When I force my heavy eyelids open, my surroundings answer none of my questions. This isn’t my bedroom with its high ceilings, broad windows, and walls plastered with band posters. These walls are bare, metal, and close enough that I can reach out and touch one.
I sit up, immediately regretting the move when my brain rocks and tilts, as if I were drunk.
