“Love you.” The message beeped, cutting off the words. I wasn’t sure if he’d hear them, but it was too late to fix.
I opened the car again, dropped into the seat, and jiggled the dragon pig’s leg.
“Listen, buddy.”
The dragon pig opened one eye, peering up at me upside down.
“I need you to ride shotgun while I hit a couple more stops.”
The other eye slowly opened. Then both blinked independent of the other. The dragon pig huffed steam out its nostrils, warm where it brushed my wrists.
“I’m good. Just…distracted, I guess. Make sure I don’t miss a stop sign or something.”
It growl-oinked, then hopped up on the dashboard.
“Hey, you’re not quite small enough… Oh, okay then. I see you got that covered.”
There really wasn’t enough room for the dragon pig to perch comfortably on the dash, but it was a dragon. Once it had settled into the space, it just sort of…fit.
“Is it a magic thing?”
I got a snarl for that.
“Okay,” I chuckled, “dragon thing it is.”
Chapter Eight
Turnedout grocery shopping was also a dragon thing.
“What do you think about lasagna?” I asked the dragon pig in the grocery cart. “Or maybe some pot stickers? I could try sushi? Can’t burn what you don’t cook.”
The dragon pig sat transfixed in the metal cart practically vibrating with joy.
“I think a pot pie. I can make pot pie without burning it.” I turned down the aisle then backtracked the way I’d come in. “Or maybe a sexy soup? What’s the sexiest soup?”
“Something with sausage, meatballs, and a good, heavy cream.”
My almost-uncle, Crow, dropped a loaf of rye in the basket hanging in the crook of his elbow and grinned at me.
He’d gone full Mohawk about a week ago. It looked great with his thick black hair and made the square of his jaw and cut of his cheeks stand out.
Myra had teased him about it not being traditional Siletz, and he’d pointed at Jean’s pink hair and said, “Traditional clown,” then at Myra’s bob cut and said, “traditional flapper.” She’d laughed, he’d flipped her off companionably, then done a few more runway struts so we could all thoroughly appreciate his new do.
“Hey, Crow.”
“Or a good chicken. Lots of breasts and thighs?”
“Never gonna talk sexy soup with you. I’ve changed my mind anyway. Definitely some kind of noodle dish.”
Crow was the god Raven. A trickster who mostly behaved himself while he was vacationing in Ordinary and running his glassblowing business in the Crow’s Nest.
“Special occasion?” He pointed at the bottle of wine I’d spent fifteen minutes trying to decide on, and which I’d finally chosen because the label was pretty. His fingernails had gray dust embedded at the cuticles. That was different. Glassblowing didn’t usually leave his fingers dirty like that. Like…dust? No, something else.
“The wine?” he asked, bringing me back to his question.
“Just dinner at home. Something simple.”
“Simple like hand-rolled sushi and homemade pot pie.”
