A Shade of Dragon (6 page)

I
was still stewing
on the matter of Iphras when we reached Goose Pond, void of all geese in late December. A small stand had been erected at the front gate, and from that stand you could rent your blades for a few dollars, sign their insurance waiver, and get out on the ice.

Theon came to a stop alongside me, but I continued to mill forward, distracted. When I turned back to him, I found him six feet behind me, staring toward Goose Pond. It was mostly filled with happy children, bundled to the gills and shrieking with frostbitten glee. Yet Theon remained morose.

“Hey,” I said, ambling back toward him. I frowned, and my worries fizzled away at the expression on his face. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Theon replied coldly. “I just… hate the ice. And winter. Maybe I should not have come here.”

“Why don’t you get out on the ice with me?” I prodded. “See how it can be fun.”

Theon exhaled and stared at me hard, weighing my words. Finally, he nodded.

“Take me onto the ice, then. Show me how it can be ‘fun.’”

I hurried back to the rental stand and dished out a handful of ones in exchange for two pairs of rental skates. I led him through the enclosure and out to the pond, hemmed in with families resting on wrought-iron benches, watching the children play. We sat down on a bench and I popped off my high-heeled boots in favor of the ragged white skates I’d been given. Lacing them tightly up to my ankles, I glanced over at Theon and saw him holding the skates as if they were weapons—clutched in his hand, the blade facing out—and frowning. I laughed, snatching the skates from him and offering to show him how to use them.

I knelt and took each of his feet—as massive as his hands—and slid them into his size-fifteen blades. The woman at the kiosk had informed us that they were the only pair of size-fifteen skates at the rental booth, and this was the first time anyone had rented them. “There we go,” I murmured to myself as I finished lacing them up.

I stood and extended my hand to him. He took it, though I could tell he used none of his weight against me as he stood. If he had, I would have been quickly pulled onto the bench, I was sure.

Theon gazed out over the icy lake with a striking degree of hatred in his gaze. But when he turned to peer down at me, the anger softened. “Show me, then.”

Grinning, I laced my fingers through his and we clattered toward the ice. “Do you want to just walk around for a little while first?” I asked him. “Sometimes it’s hard for people to balance on skates. Takes some getting used”—Theon stepped onto the ice of Goose Pond and pushed forward in one flawless motion—“to.”
Of course he’s a natural.
He looped back and returned to me, even braking perfectly.

“I think I’ll be all right,” he said, extending his hand to take mine. At this, I couldn’t help but smile.

We swept out onto the lake together, one of the few couples partaking in the romantic wintery tradition, and performed several laps hand in hand. As we increased our speed, I began to feel weightless… unfettered… and dizzy with glee. Piece by piece, I abandoned my worries, my anxiety, and just let us fly together over the ice, the blustery wind chafing our cheeks, pulses singing down into our fingers and toes.

“Oh my God, Nell! Nell!” a distant voice called me from my bliss.

I almost didn’t want to find its source. Throaty, with just a hint of nasally. Strong and female.
Augh.

“Penelope O’Hara!” the voice called again. I could tell that she had cupped her mouth with her gloved hands that time. We were looping around the lake and would be face to face with her shortly.

Oh, never mind. She was coming to see us regardless of the lack of a welcoming gesture.

Michelle Ballinger, my former sort-of-but-not-really best friend from the age of thirteen, was approaching with a big, toothy grin and her sparkling eyes fixed on Theon.

“
O
h
, my God! Nell! I had no idea you were back in town!” Michelle advanced along the ice. Her hourglass figure was wrapped in shiny, black thermal leggings and a skin-tight white turtleneck. She wore a down vest which did nothing to hide her breasts. Her makeup, although heavy, was also artful. A rosy dust arched her cheekbones and dark red, almost brown lipstick pouted her lips. Her dark curls were loose and tousled, always giving the impression of having just rolled out of bed. Not alone, either. “Why didn’t you call me?” Michelle asked, braking perfectly on the ice. She finally tore her eyes from Theon to blink at me.

“I lost my phone,” I explained, my voice a blend of forced friendliness and patience. “How’s it been going?” I could already see the future in her gleaming eyes. Our adolescence had been playing out this way since Michelle had hit puberty. I’d meet somebody and she’d sweep in with her dramatic features and her nubile frame and just snap them up like sales items from a bin. They usually never even realized I might have liked them for myself, and neither did Michelle. It was likely only from her lack of interest that Andrew hadn’t hooked up with her much sooner; she had a thing for exotic, dangerous types, and Andrew Hardy was anything but.

“Well, no harm, no foul. It’s all better now,” Michelle said, her gaze raking over Theon. “What did you bring me from DC?”

“Some airport perfume,” I answered shortly. “But it’s at home. This is Theon. He’s from Iphras.”

“I love Iphras,” Michelle chimed, not missing a beat. “It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Theon. My name is Michelle Ballinger, of the Boston Ballingers.”
Augh. Such a wannabe princess.
I didn’t know at what point Michelle’s routine had become obnoxious to me. In the past two years, either I’d matured a lot, or Michelle had changed. Michelle draped her hand into the air to be taken by Theon, and he complied with a brisk air-kiss to her knuckles. She tittered. “Care to take a break with me?” Michelle asked, her eyes back to me. “We could walk over to Carmella’s for some cocoa and catch up. Theon could come too.”

I grimaced, but I had no choice. It would become the big discussion of whatever event Michelle hosted next if I were to turn down her invitation to hot cocoa, and I wouldn’t be able to show my face again without it coming up.

“That sounds good,” I lied. “Is that okay with you, Theon?”

“Of course,” he agreed, though he was frowning. “We need to go back in the direction of the Blackstone Collection in any regard, to return those Stylus pens, don’t we?”

“Right.” I smiled with more relief than I wanted to be evident. He was telling me in a very subtle way that he would be staying with me and not venturing off with Michelle to continue his holiday-shopping experience over some hot cocoa. “We’ll meet you over at the rental stand, Michelle. Let us get off our gear.”

When we returned to the bench to unlace our skates, Theon didn’t hesitate. “Michelle Ballinger, of the Boston Ballingers,” he said, clearing his throat. “You do not like her.”

“It’s complicated,” I answered, depositing my ice skates off to the side and tugging my black, high-heeled boots back on. “A lot of history there.”

Theon nodded and slid his feet back into his own footwear: deep blue suede moccasins, which I could now see were lined with the same chestnut-colored fur as his vest. Unlike my own fur-lined moccasins, purchased from an Ugg shoe outlet and now ruined with ocean water, his looked like they’d been made by hand. The stitching was crude, and the thread didn’t match the suede. I was still trying to figure out who the hell Theon was—traveling royalty from some exotic, yet impoverished land?—when I realized that he had stood. I started and stood with him, blushing. “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I have to get back to my dad’s at some point today, anyway.”

Theon’s reaction was crestfallen. We ambled together toward the rental shack, where Michelle waited.

“My dad was really disappointed that I had to leave at all,” I explained.

“Of course,” Theon replied. “Care for her family is an important quality in a woman.”

My cheeks were hot as Michelle approached us. “So, Theon,” she chirped, taking his other side. “How are you liking Maine?”

“In spite of your harpy infestation, I may have found what I was looking for,” he replied nonchalantly.
Harpy infestation?

Michelle didn’t take the bait. She was far more practical than the sultry clothing and sex-kitten vibe portrayed, and likely understood that questioning his statement would appear to undermine her interest in him. Her sexuality was wielded with the intent of being nothing but a powerful tool, often as a means to an end—and, before she had blossomed so fully into a woman, we had bonded over our shared pragmatism. Now, however, it seemed we’d invested in entirely different methods. “Did you come up here with Nell? Meeting her family for Christmas?”

“We only met last night, in fact,” Theon informed her. I winced. Michelle would see this information as a green light. “And yet—”

“She didn’t even think to mention me?” Michelle asked, weaving one of her arms through Theon’s. “She must have taken one look at you and known that you were my type.”

“I thought you and Andrew were getting serious,” I commented.

Michelle gasped and pointed a manicured nail. “So you did have your phone last night!”

“Excuse me.” Theon extracted his arm from Michelle’s. “You seem perfectly capable of walking, my lady.”

Michelle blanched, but she was nothing if not resilient. It only took a second for her to recover. “Well, Nell, since you ‘don’t have your phone’”—she used air-quotes—“there’s going to be a Christmas Eve bash at the lake house tomorrow. Everyone’s going to be there, even Andrew, if you want to talk to him, and I’m sure everyone is hoping to see you there.” She winked. “Especially Andrew,” she whispered loudly—right
over Theon, as if he was deaf.

I narrowed my eyes. She had to know that Andrew didn’t give a hoot whether or not I attended the Christmas Eve party at her lake house, and that I was interested in Theon. If previous incidents were any indication, Andrew was obsessing over Michelle right about now, and would be heartbroken if she snatched Theon as she obviously intended.

Michelle’s air-headed persona got her out of a lot of jams, but it didn’t work on me. She knew what she was doing. Still… I was trapped. If I didn’t attend, I’d get the overnight reputation of a coward and a sore loser. My pride wouldn’t allow for that. I’d rather suffer at the lake house. “Sounds fun,” I told her, giving no indication of how annoying I found her behavior to be. “We’ll be there.”

“We?” Michelle prompted.

My cheeks flamed and I whirled, remembering Theon. “Oh, I’m sorry, Theon. I didn’t even think about asking you first. But if you’d like to come with me—”

Theon smiled down at me and touched my hair, adjusting a few errant strands which fluttered against my cheek. He pushed them behind my ear and then let his fingers linger at my jaw for a moment. “It would be my honor to attend the local festivities with you,” he whispered. His golden eyes glowed, and his voice was so low, I felt as if this exchange was truly ours alone.

“Great,” I breathed.

“Well, this is adorable.” Michelle’s voice brought Shoreside and the December sunshine back. “But it’s almost five o’clock, and I’ve got some stockings to stuff, so how about mochas? Anybody? Mochas?”

“Almost five o’clock?” Where had the day gone? How long had we been skating together? When I’d gotten here, it hadn’t even been noon yet—and I’d spent a couple hours shopping, and then I’d run into Theon, and… oh, crap. I’d lost all track of time. “My dad is going to kill me. I told him I’d be back before three.”

“Oh, no,” Michelle cooed. “Well, we’ll see you at the lake house, then. Theon? Mochas?”

“Afraid I must decline, Lady Ballinger,” Theon said over his shoulder, hardly gracing Michelle with a glance. “It is time that I, too, take flight.”

Michelle lowered her lashes and examined me more closely, as if realizing that her sidekick had developed into competition. “All right.” Her bright smile was put on again. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Theon, and Nell… Call me when you find your phone, ’kay?” She winked and turned on her heel, traipsing into Carmella’s and leaving us to stare after her.

“Hm,” Theon said when the door was closed behind her. He turned to me. “She’s really a friend of yours?”

“Kind of,” I answered hesitantly. “What’s the ‘hm’ for?”

“She seems to have the propensity for great evil, as well as goodness. It is interesting to see someone who is partially mired in their dark side.”

“Am I not partially mired in my dark side?”

At this, Theon smiled. “No, not at all,” he whispered. “Go see your father. Tomorrow, at sunset, I will collect you from his home for this gathering with Lady Ballinger. Does that sound suitable to you?”

I wondered if I’d ever cease to be taken aback by his way with words. “Sounds great,” I said, feeling suddenly—perhaps for the first time ever—intellectually mediocre.

I
told
Dad about the gathering. I got his approval. I waited for Theon. The sun set, the sky darkened, the stars came out… and still there was no knock at the door.

I bit my lip and migrated from the den to the porch. The December wind sliced through me and I wound my wool-lined denim jacket tighter around myself. I peered down to the beach below, glanced at the distant beach house near the cave. Nothing. No lights. No silhouette on the sand. No one was coming.

Steadily, my eyebrows settled into two flat lines on my forehead. He wasn’t coming.

I stepped back inside, the heat thawing my fingers and nose.

“Hey, sweetie,” Dad called from the kitchen, where he was doing the dishes. Zada contributed almost nothing to the maintenance of the house—Dad, when I’d mentioned this months ago, had commented that it was a trade-off for her free spirit. “Are you still here?”

“Yes,” I answered. Sage had cleared out to visit his biological father elsewhere in the state; I had no idea where Zada was. The house was silent, save the clatter of pots and pans. I put my head down into my hands and cringed with embarrassment, leaning against the wall. At least no one else was here to see my shame.

I’d dressed myself in a knit tank dress with a handkerchief hem, the color of ferns in deep spring, paired with dark hosiery, leather combat boots, and the wool-lined, distressed denim jacket. I’d put curls in my hair and even broken out the old mascara wand. There was a hint of perfume on my neck. I looked damn cute, and I never did things like this for boys. And he wasn’t even coming. He wasn’t coming, and I was going to have to admit to Dad—oh, my God, and to Michelle and Andrew and their entire party—that he had bailed on me. That maybe he was just some jerk after all: gorgeous and intellectual, a hint wild, and easily bored.

“It doesn’t look like my friend could make it,” I called to Dad as casually as I could manage. “I’m going to go on and head out with the Mercedes, if that’s all right with you. I’m probably just going to make an appearance”—
so that nobody talks about me,
I added bitterly—“and then come back home, all right?”

“Sounds good, baby,” Dad called. There was a crash. “I’m fine! You go on. Nothing broke. Have a good time! Drive carefully.”

I hurried toward the garage door, snatching his keys off the ring as I went. My expression set into an aloof smile. I was going out to a party with the other teenaged children of country clubbers and cocktail partiers, friends of the O’Hara family with whom I had been forced to play since infancy. In essence, they were mostly monsters, and when you were playing with monsters, your mask could be your most valuable weapon.

T
he Ballinger family
lake house was a luxurious yet rustic haven, filled with warm light. On the hillside blazed three floors, totaling eight bedrooms, encompassing everything from a state-of-the-art, fully-stocked kitchen to a billiards table to a home theater to a rope swing. Michelle Ballinger’s summers had wanted for nothing, and her winters had been picturesque and intense.

Before even parking, I could tell you that the fireplace would be roaring and everyone inside would be smashed on alcoholic holiday beverages. Adventurous couples would go sledding, or skiing, or maybe even out in the canoe. Another snow had fallen after sunset, papering the mountainside in a crisp layer of white.

As I climbed from the Mercedes, I surveyed the land. The lake house was secluded, the Ballingers having complete ownership of the lake on which they sat and several acres of the surrounding wood. It was twenty minutes outside of Beggar’s Hole, and the only sound for miles around would be the party itself. From a great enough distance, even that sound would die, and it would be nothing but the wolves and the owls.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and promised myself that I would only be in there for half an hour. Then I advanced on the brightly lit front porch. Several Lawry Hill students had already flocked there to smoke, and huddled together, puffing away. I only recognized a handful of faces. “Hey, Nell,” someone called to me.

“Hey,” I called back, readying my aloof smile. I slid through the crowd and entered the Ballinger lake house.

It was too large to ever appear packed, and Michelle’s friends, although not necessarily elitist, were certainly exclusive by their own standards, meaning that only several clusters of party-goers stood inside, drinking and murmuring to one another. I targeted a group of girls with whom I had once shared a cheerleading troop, and was on the verge of approaching them when Michelle interrupted from behind.

“Nell!” Michelle called down. “Nell, I want to see you. Hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” She ducked away from an interior balcony, hurried along a corridor of side steps and then came out directly behind me. She wore a layered maroon sweater with a white collared shirt, a navy blue pleated skirt, and thick gray tights. She looked, of course, adorable. Her hair wore its usual sloppy, proud style. “What took you guys so long—” She frowned and made a show of scanning the room. Somehow, I was sure she would’ve been able to see Theon entering the room from a pair of eyes in the back of her head. “Where’s Theon? Did he decide not to come?”

“He couldn’t make it. A… business… thing.”

Two of Michelle’s latest best friends—Erin and Shanice—approached with their drinks in hand: for Shanice, creamy apple cider with a stick of cinnamon, and for Erin, hot chocolate and a crust of melted marshmallows. Shanice was a willowy Caribbean with a sculpted afro and electric-blue lipstick, while Erin was a petite brunette with a cap of glossy hair, a leopard-print cardigan, and black leather pants.

Shanice smirked and took a sip from her cider. “Mm. Shell got us all excited about meeting this hot new man. No show, huh, Nell?”

Erin winked. “Happens to the best of us, girlfriend.”

“He wasn’t a no-show. He had a business thing. A conference call. He couldn’t get out of it.” Augh. Why couldn’t I lie? You would expect for the child of a corporate lawyer and a business mogul to be one of the most proficient liars on the planet.

“A business thing on Christmas Eve?” Michelle whispered to me. Shanice and Erin glanced at each other. “Are you sure that’s the story you want to go with?”

I felt my cheeks flame. Damn this translucent Irish skin. “It’s the truth. It happened at the last minute. He wanted to come.”

“But this just had to be the same night that Theon was supposed to take that deposit to the bank, and it never made it there,” Shanice chimed in gleefully.

“Now he’s stuck on the phone with corporate, trying to figure out if they can legally fire him if he hasn’t had his third strike yet,” Erin added with a grin. “Am I right, Nell?”

“You should use that detail,” Michelle insisted. “It makes the story sound much better.”

“Um, Theon is real,” I informed them. “You met him yesterday. Where are the drinks?”

Michelle guided our path, and Shanice and Erin swooped in, looping their arms through mine and pulling me along the hall, toward the kitchen.

“I think somebody was just trying to put Andrew in his place.” Erin giggled.

“You should know that whatever is going on with me and Andrew is totally relaxed, Nell,” Michelle called to me sweetly from over her shoulder. “So if you want to strike things up with him while you’re in town, I’m, like, ninety percent he’d be down.”

“I’ll pass,” I replied, deadpan. “Like you saw yesterday… I met someone else.”

Michelle turned on her heel and smirked at me. “Right.”

“Let me just grab one of these drinks,” I said, scanning the selection and plucking a Styrofoam cup of fresh hot cocoa from the counter. “You know what? I think I will say hi to Andrew, and just let him know that there’s no hard feelings.” Smiling and nodding toward the three of them—
Theon was right, we do have a harpy infestation
—I turned and sipped at my cocoa, exiting the kitchen.

I was sure Andrew was around here somewhere—probably sledding, skiing, or playing billiards—but I’d been lying. I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone. I was going to get the hell out of here, and quit trying to shoehorn myself into a social stratum where I just didn’t belong.