I got the impression that they didn’t want to move. But I needed them to, if I was going to ease their strange tension.
Quickly, I twisted my green waves back into a knot to keep them out of my face (and out of Hex’s surface). And then, cringing, I slipped my fingers between Hex and the cast iron of the cauldron.
“Sorry about this, but I’ve got to get you out if there is something stuck to you.”
They resisted. Theyreallyresisted. A zap of magic traveled through my fingers, into the bones of my hands, and up my arm. Nausea curled in my stomach at the sensation.
I grumbled under my breath. “Gods be damned. Bitch. Don’t attack me, I’m just trying to help.”
They resisted harder, liquifying for just a moment so my hand jerked through their surface and nearly smacked my own face.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine! Be miserable then. Insolent familiar. You’re supposed to followmyrules.”
They gurgled, clearly annoyed, which was a pile of shit becauseIwas the one who should be annoyed.
“Don’t come crying to me next time you have fuzz on your face, then. Brat.”
A bizarre stab of worry tore through my chest, nearly doubling me over. I rubbed my collarbone to ease the sensation.
With one last glance (glare) at Hex in the cauldron, I turned to finish up my latest concoction.
But the worried sensation intensified.
My palms broke out in a clammy sweat, and a cold shiver straightened my spine, entirely different than the cold drifting in through the window. This was the cold of fear, of despair, of anxiety.
I wished Tandor was here. My mate might have been a softie when it came to some things, but he always soothed my worries and eased my fears.
“What is it, Hex? If you won’t let me help you, then at least let me get back to work.”
My stomach tied itself in a knot.
Fighting the nausea, I returned to the cauldron, to my annoyingly needy familiar.
“Fine. You win. What do you want me to do?”
I waited. Slowly, Hex loosened from around the dragon eggs, exposing them fully to my view.
What I saw made me squint my eyes and question my sanity.
I leaned in, bracing my hips on the rim of the cauldron and bringing my face within inches of the red dragon egg. It was shiny, with an indescribable shimmer that could only be magical in origin. Swallowing down my nerves, I reached out trembling fingers.
There was a small, black line decorating the surface of the dragon eggshell. The scaled surface made the line difficult to identify, but it was certainlysomething.
I ran my fingertips over the surface, entirely prepared for the black line to be one of Hyacinth’s hairs, a local witch with long black locks. But it didn’t brush aside. A tiny, almost imperceptible divot could be felt along the black line.
My brain struggled to put the pieces together.
Fiella and I had been trying for weeks to crack the dragon shells open. And not just the two of us. Tandor tried, too, with his orcish strength. And Fiella’s mate, Redd, who had all sorts of woodworking tools at his disposal. And a few of the witches that we could trust to keep the eggs a secret from Mayor Tommins.
We worked relentlessly. We had tried potions. Tonics. Flames. Ice. Rituals. Brute force. Nothing had worked.
But now, impossibly, a small crack marred the egg’s surface.
I barely noticed the weight of a sprite settling on my shoulder, grabbing onto my tunic for stability. My mind whirled.
This was what Hex had wanted me to see.
The dragons were finally hatching.
