Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace (12 page)

“This is why you need this time. Trust me, Jennifer.” “I can’t trust someone who’s been lying to me for fourteen years,” she spat. Once it was out, she didn’t want to take it back. It felt too much like the truth.

He stared at her but didn’t reply. Instead, he went into the kitchen.

The change came less than an hour later, and as much as Jennifer hated to admit it, her father was right. It didn’t hurt as much as it had the first time. Her insides still twisted uncomfortably, and the way her spine crinkled still creeped her out beyond belief, but there was little pain in her jaws, claws, or limbs.

With less pain and fear, Jennifer was able to observe her own transformation more clearly. The most interesting part, she told herself while gritting her teeth through the modest aches, was the unfolding of the wings. A sheath burst out of her shoulder blades and wrapped itself around arms and torso. It spun out the thin material that stretched from her scaly wrist to her glistening abdomen. Then her elbows bent backward with a sickening
grapp
, though it felt to her like little more than cracking her knuckles.

All in all, she couldn’t decide which was the more troubling—the first change weeks ago, when she was terrified and could barely see anything, or this one, where she knew what was happening and could calmly observe the dragon shape obliterating her human body.

As the tint of electric blue came to her thickening skin and the greasy horn began to poke out of her elongated snout, she finally decided it sucked either way.

Her father came in from the kitchen when they had both morphed—he had given her some privacy, at her request—and looked her over with a smile that fell short of his silver eyes. The comment she had made earlier apparently stuck with him.

“The moon’s been coming out of last quarter for at least a day. The others will be here soon. Wait here.”

“What, you’re leaving?”

His silver eyes held an icy tint. “Don’t pretend to be disappointed.”

Jennifer had never experienced bitterness from her own father, and it surprised her. It made him seem a lot younger—or perhaps herself a lot older. A surge of guilt flushed her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting so difficult—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupted, holding her gaze. “You’re right to feel the way you feel. But I think I am doing more harm than good. Your grandfather will be a better tutor for you.”

“Where will you go? I mean, you’re a dragon, Dad. Shouldn’t you stay here, at least for the crescent moon?”

“I’ll go where I often go when I’m like this. Crescent Valley.”

“Can I—I mean, after a while, do you think I could go there, too?”

He paused and for the second time in the conversation, revealed an expression she had never seen before. This time, it was as if he was weighing her with his eyes, or examining her for faults. It made her feel both resentful and anxious at once.

“In time,” he finally said. “For now, I’ve got to get moving while there’s still enough moonlight on the water.” He turned to leave.

“When will I see you again?” She felt herself start to panic. What if Grandpa didn’t come? What if the other weredragons were unfriendly? And what did moonlight on the water have to do with anything?

“I’ll probably stay there a few weeks,” he said. “Your mother’s going to be out of town on seminars. I’ll pick up the van on the way back.”

“Wait, weeks? I thought you only stayed in dragon shape while the crescent moon lasted.”

He leaned in close and bared his sharp teeth in a mysterious smile. “Curious, isn’t it?”

And then, with a rush of wind, he was gone.

Sunrise came about an hour later, and there was still no sign of anyone else. Silence and the dewy scent of dawn lay in the crisp October air. Jennifer curled up on the porch and waited, looking over her nose horn for any sign of anyone and wondering if she ought to catch something to eat for herself… when suddenly breakfast came to her.

Half a dozen of Grandpa’s sheep, far away from their grazing pastures, came lumbering around the northeast corner of the cabin. They looked terrified.

The sound of galloping feet came surging right after, and before Jennifer could react three enormous olive green shapes barged around the same corner in hot pursuit. All three dragons—for they were dragons, though not of any kind Jennifer had ever seen before—gave a boisterous roar that practically knocked her off the porch. Then, like thunderstorms in skin, they redoubled their pace and charged after their prey.

“Hey, what’re you—” she began, but her voice was lost in the horrific din. Was she seeing animal shapes again, or was this real?

It was in fact real, she decided, and a real hunt at that. The predators’ forearms were thick and strong, and the sparse wing webbing that connected these limbs to their bodies seemed more decorative than useful. Certainly they were more comfortable on the ground than Jennifer still was. She couldn’t imagine these bulky shapes circling over a lake full of fish like her father, or diving gracefully down to pluck anything out of anywhere.

But it was their violent crimson eyes that really caught her attention. Three pairs of narrow red pinpoints sprinted toward their prey, completely focused. If the sheep had been gazelles, they wouldn’t have been any better off, Jennifer was sure.

One caught up to a straggling sheep. With a quick movement of its head, it ducked under the animal’s belly and gored its rib cage with a nose horn. The sheep flipped up into the air and fell dead.

Ew
. She winced. With a wing claw, she fingered her own nose horn tentatively.

The other two dragons had almost caught up to their own sheep when two slender blue shapes flipped over the nearby trees and swooped down. Their scales were almost exactly the same shade as Jennifer’s, but their enormous wings had patterns of pink, orange, and yellow that reminded her more of a butterfly than a dragon.

With a spirited laugh, the newcomers swung their tails down and struck each of the green dragons with the tips. Sparks flew, and there were shouts of protest and more laughter. The blue dragons tried to get at the surviving sheep, but the green dragons would have none of it.

“Hey, Catherine!” one of the flyers giggled with flashing, golden eyes. “What’s the matter? Haven’t learned how to fly yet?”

“Come closer and say that” came the good-natured response. “I’ll have
you
for breakfast instead.”

“You’re going hungry today! These sheep are ours!”

As both groups chased each other back and forth, Jennifer thought she saw a shadow by the edge of the trees move. It was a mound of dirt and weeds that she wasn’t sure had ever been there before. Staring directly at it, she realized that it had eyes—silver eyes. They fixed on the sheep, and the dragons chasing them.

They looked hungry, and not entirely friendly.

Jennifer raised her head, not knowing what this mysterious mound with eyes was or whether to warn the others—but before she could even say a word, the clump struck. As an unobservant sheep trotted by, its jaws flared out, grabbed the poor thing by its fluffy neck, and twisted.

“Creeper!” one of the blue dragons cried out, but he was still laughing. “Creeper alert! Muller’s trying to horn in on our meal!”

This got all of them working together. But before green or blue dragon could reach the site of the attack, the newcomer had disappeared again, wrapping its shadowy skin around its prey somewhere in the prickly brush.

“Come out, Muller!” they all roared, swiping gently at the branches. “Show yourself, and the sheep! Or we’ll burn this forest down looking for you.”

“You will
not
,” Jennifer abruptly shouted, jumping over the porch railing and landing (rather elegantly, she congratulated herself) on the lawn not far from them. They all started a bit at her interruption, but quickly smiled when they saw who she was.

“You’re Crawford’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” said one of the olive-skinned dragons.

“That’s right. I’m Jennifer Scales. Who are you, and why are you chasing our sheep around our barn and talking about burning down our forest?”

The dragon extended a wing claw. “Catherine Brandfire. We’re just joking about burning the forest—we know the rules around here.”

Jennifer reluctantly shook the offered claw. “All right, then. What about the sheep?”

“What, you want one? Join the hunt. But that’ll mean two of us go hungry, instead of just one!” She said this last to the whole group, and there were a few chuckles.

“Why haven’t I ever seen you around here before?”

Catherine shrugged. “Well, I’m pretty new. Only turned sixteen a few weeks ago. But the others have been coming here for years. Some of us get bored around mealtime—picking off prey is too easy, unless you have a bit of competition!”

A blue dragon, still hovering over their heads, broke in. “You want a challenge, Catherine? Wait until you hunt the oreams of Crescent Valley!”

“Hang on a moment. You guys come here every crescent moon? And you know my grandfather?”

“It would be hard not to!” This came from the moving clump of weeds with silver eyes, which emerged from the brush and changed color and texture rapidly to reveal a dragon shape. This one was not unlike her own father and grandfather: dark purple, with a bony forehead pulled back in a black crest. “Everyone knows Elder Scales, and his son, Jonathan.” He did not smile, but there was respect in his voice.

Jennifer idly wondered what being an elder meant, but something else was bothering her right now. “How come I’ve never seen any of you before?”

A blue dragon with a pinkish hue on the underside of his wings landed gently next to her. “I’ll bet you’ve never been here during a crescent moon?”

“No … I guess not. Not until a few weeks ago.” She had never really paid attention to moon phases before all this nonsense. Why should she? She enjoyed the nighttime sky like anyone else, but she was no astronomer.

“Crawford had us leave last time, before you arrived. Your family thought it might be easier. It’s nice to finally meet you, Jennifer! I’m Alex Rosespan. I’ve been a dasher for the last six years, and my brother, Patrick, has, too, for just a couple of months. If it weren’t for your grandfather, Patrick and I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go when we first morphed. This is like a second home to us.”

“And for all of us,” chimed in Catherine. “I’ve only morphed twice before, but everyone knows Crawford’s farm is the safest place to be if you’re a weredragon. It’s also where the tutors come to show the newer arrivals how to manage their powers.”

“Powers? You mean like breathing fire and flying?”

“And the more interesting stuff.” Catherine’s crimson eyes glowed. “Like lizard-calling for us tramplers, or camouflage for creepers like Mullery.”

“This is my first year as a tutor,” Alex explained. “I’ll be helping dashers with their tailwork.”

Jennifer sat back on her haunches, flicking her tail nervously. This all sounded suspiciously like more school…

“Do you know which type you’ll follow?”

“What’s that?” The question made no sense.

“What type?” Alex pressed. “I mean you look like you’ve got a bit of everything in you—horn and build of a trampler, skin and tail of a dasher, and, of course, creeper’s in your blood—and I don’t know if that’s ever happened before, even when families cross over. Kids with different parents favor one type or the other.”

Like an unwelcome winter wind, the recollection that she was a freak among monsters slapped Jennifer’s scaled cheeks and reddened them. What on earth must these perfect breeds, who all looked similar within their tidy hunting groups, think of her? It was like being a mutt among pedigrees. “I… um … I dunno. My dad didn’t… my grandpa hasn’t… it’s because of my dumb mom…”

“I think it’s a lovely mix,” Catherine said warmly. “You’re striking! And I bet crossing types will come in handy. Each breed has its strengths and weaknesses—for example, we tramplers can’t fly too well. But I’ll bet you can pick up whatever skills you like, and be great at them. Maybe we’ll learn lizard-calling together?”

“Lizard-whuh?” She was too taken aback by the green dragon’s kindness to pick up the term. “You really think I’d be any good at it?”

“Sure, why not? You never know until you try, right? I learned that when I started junior year and had to pick up calculus. Turns out I didn’t fail miserably.”

Jennifer wanted to hug this stranger on the spot, but suddenly a shadow landed to her left, startling her. It was Grandpa Crawford.

“Making friends already, Niffer?” he said smoothly. “Fabulous! But it’s almost time for breakfast. If you others will finish your kill and bring it up to the cabin, we’ll have a roast and then share some stories.”

By the time breakfast began, Jennifer had counted no fewer than thirty-two different dragons running through her grandfather’s pastures, or slinking through the trees, or sailing over the lake on tranquil wings. There were tramplers like Catherine, all some shade of green with large bodies, crimson eyes behind any number of nose horns, and not much in the way of wings; dashers like Alex, with small bright blue bodies, golden eyes, and brilliant patterns under their broad wings; and creepers like her father and grandfather, purple or black for the most part, horns or crests at the backs of their heads, and not often seen because of the way their scales seemed to shift color and texture at will.

It was odd, seeing her second home populated by completely foreign creatures. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized so much of what she thought familiar was changing—the people back home, her friends, her family, herself, everything.

Sheep was on the menu, of course, and Jennifer took the time to catch and prepare her own. It made her feel more like she was blending in, and she had to admit the more she saw of these other dragons, the more the idea appealed to her. Besides, she realized as she watched them hunt, she hadn’t eaten solid food in days, and that seemed stupid in retrospect. What
had
she been thinking?