Page 4 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
But the drake had touched it already, somehow. I saw that his hind talons, curved like small scythes, were glistening wet and red.
“You must wash your feet, or you will grow sick.” I babbled. “Or… is only the bite dangerous? We could call for a physician’s opinion.”
The drake gave a screeching cry. I realized I was discussing medicine with a beast.
My shock broke, and my suppressed fear rose, cold as ice then hot and furious, my own belated challenge to danger. A shudder cranked through my shoulders and down my spine, leaving me trembling—fingertips, jaw, ankles—as though I raged with fever.
The world turned harshly exact and bright.
Again, another vision overlaid mine, but now vivid and vibrating with indescribable hues. This time, I recognized the woman I saw—myself as if seen in a mirror, but from below, a child’s perspective. The delicate pattern of my muslin dress shimmered in woven violet, every detail phenomenally precise. My bare skin glowed with warmth. My dark eyes shone—blazed—with power more potent than heat.
The ground banged my knees. I caught myself, palms pressed on rough earth, and hauled in desperate breaths. I still saw myself, crouched, head tilted back to keep my gaze locked with our drake’s.
The strange double vision cleared.
I must be fainting. Ladies are supposed to faint. This was good.
I counted wobbly breaths, waiting. Maybe I should lie down. But that seemed very dramatic.
Five breaths passed. I was giddy, my stomach roiling at the gore and fumes.
Ten breaths. I began to be disappointed. A lady in a novel would have swooned elegantly by now. And in the more salacious editions, she would then wake in the arms of an apparently roguish, but secretly landed, officer.
Mary thumped to a stop beside me, breathing hard and catching my handwhile she helped me stand. Mr. Hill, no officer in his rough working clothes but carrying a long gun, advanced puffing while makingscatnoises at the firedrake.
Ribbed wings flexed and spread wide, causing all but me to jump back, and then the drake was gone, tracing a soaring curve on the sky like a pen stroke addressing an elaborate invitation.
3
THEJOURNAL
Maryand I were escorted home by a shaken Mr. Hill, then met with loud consternation from Mamma, my sisters, and the servants. Even Papa asked serious questions before being satisfied.
“We are unhurt,” I said. “Although Mary did scream prettily. Rather like an actress.”
“Anactress?” My mother was horrified.
“I only compliment her voice, Mamma. My ear still echoes.” I tugged at the bonnet covering my ear. Mary studied me, considering whether to smile.
Lydia, my youngest sister and just sixteen, spoke up. “The dog is dead, then?”
“Quite dead,” I replied. “Burned.”
“I wish I had seen.” She pouted. “It is unfair that it happened toyou!”
“It was most dangerous, Lydia,” Jane said.
Lydia set her shoulders and scowled.
“Has our drake returned?” I asked.
That question received blank expressions, so I led a curious parade out our front door and found the animal perched atop the draca house, wrapped in his wings with his head tucked out of sight.
“It is lucky he found you,” Jane observed.
“Yes,” I said. Very lucky, as we had been far from the house, and our drake had never before patrolled our fields.
I leaned close to look at his feet, hooked around the iron perch on the draca house roof. I had never examined our drake’s talons before. They were lustrous and dark, like tarnished pewter, but the sheen was a blued-steel razor. There were gouges in the iron perch where he had tightened his grip.
