SAVE POINT 113
Loading a Dragon-Non-Dragon's Feelings &...A Witchy Woman...35%
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Sparo
I'm supposed to keep you protected. That's it. That's all—just one flipping responsibility to the girl I love—like, I correct quickly. I grit my teeth. Who am I kidding? I can be all fangs and ferocious other places, but in my head? I'm weak at the damn knees for you, Rosabella. And I've been waiting—pacing in this dark room for far too long, clenching and unclenching my fists.
"I'm going after her," I growl, suddenly thrusting myself to my knees after the up-and-down game I've been playing for about an hour.
We've all been staring at each other in this blasted conference room, our eyes flickering over each others' faces and the door to the hallway, like you're gonna come sweeping in, Rosabella. But you went off with EmeraldCity, and there hasn't been a pin drop in the hallway. I would know; I've been listening. Something has happened—something must have happened for this to be taking you so long, and I'm going find out what. I'm done staring at Dormouse sniveling in the corner...
"I'm going with you," Joy stands too. I turn to see that the pink-haired warrior already has a hand, braced and ready, on the sword at her hip. A shadow crosses her determined face but...
But I really can't stand her—any of them right now.
"Don't," I mumble irritably, "I can barely pretend I like you on the good days—"
"Ditto," she spits back, chomping on whatever piece of gum she's chewing.
"So, like I said," I continue pointedly—still a low snarl and slicing an exaggeratedly firm hand through the air to further my point—"I'm going alone."
"Why do you guys all gotta be a hero like 'I'll go alone'—'no, me. I'll go alone'?" Dormouse feigns a lower guy voice talking to a higher-pitched woman's voice. Really his rendition of making fun of us is absolutely horrendous—exactly like that goofy look wrinkling his forehead under his dark hair. I know he's been losing his marbles over the bugs, but is he really not as worried about this entire situation as the rest of us are right now?
"Mimi, kill him for me while I'm gone, will ya?" I throw the comment over my shoulder in a dry jest as I open the conference room door. I hear the freckled girl stifle a laugh before the door shuts behind me.
Hello, hallway.
Windows stretch before me...windows and the way to you.
Hello action—finally.
I might be in human form, but my dragon abilities aren't compromised. I scan the hallway, using my razor-sharp vison to locate any details—Ah ha!
I zoom my minds eye in to examine something that's fallen on the maroon carpet runner: a strand of green hair. It's like an enormous, neon sign emblazoned with the words 'this way'. I charge in that direction, my eyes scanning the hall and my ears listening for—
What's that noise? I pause, hesitating for a minute.
...
Oh, it's my stomach.
Embarrassing. With all this life-or-death plague drama, I haven't had the chance to grab myself a decent meal. I'll just...
I concentrate inwardly, pulling the creator magic towards me, watching it lower as a sense of satisfied anticipation thrums through me:
Poof. And, there you have it, friends. I'm Puff the Magic Dragon. I made Cheetos. Applause? Where's my instant applause? I'll admit it, the hallway atmosphere is a bit underwhelming in the area of support. I rip open the orange bag, relishing the snap of the plastic and the mound of cheesy goodness that awaits me. Snickers had it right when they say 'you're just not yourself when you're hungry'. I take the largest handful, stuffing it in my face and chewing greedily but...
Now for tracking you down, Rosabella...
I wipe cheese dust off my face as I continue down the hall. You're not in this hallway section and that would have been where you were headed so...
I wander further, my eyes as sharp as the sounds of my crunching snack. The carpet thuds underfoot. But I just can't shake the feeling of danger resting—hovering—just over my shoulders like that devil that's supposed to be on one side while the angel's on the other. Guess my angel usually takes the day off so...
I round another dark corner, catching the sensation of movement and noise—the faintest scuttling—out of the corner of my senses. There's cockroaches here, I know it. My body tensions because, if there's bugs here, where did you go, Rosabella? Where would you take EmeraldCity next since you promised her a room? The other wing, past the kitchen? My steps quicken. My breath does too. If something's happened to you, I'll never forgive myself.
I pass golden-framed pictures lining the halls. This is totally bizarre, but they're all hanging on an angle—like a strange, obo symphony with every awkward note aligned. ...Strange... I move past the pictures, walking slowly—
"Goddamn!" I mutter.
Because something crunches under my foot. I lift it to find a Lego block stuck between the tred of my boots. This is just getting weirder and weirder...
Voices.
There's voices coming from the doors at the end of the hall—the Conservatory? What, is the garden club having a meeting at this hour? ...Or, else, Rosabella's there. I lunge for the doors, swinging them wide open.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Light slaps me in the face.
And plants.
And...people.
Gamers are gathered in every available space of the massive greenhouse: the kitchen staff, the maids, the children—a boy zooms by me that I recognize as the one EmeraldCity brought us. And...and they're here. All the breath rushes out of me: there you are, Rosabella, standing next to the green-haired girl and very very safe.
Thank God.
I don't know how a girl of your size can have me so out of breath—so winded. I've fought numerous enemies, killed too many men and prisoners to count. I've negotiated with dragons. I've taken down Darken. All basically unflinching except to wipe blood off my sunglasses yet you...you trip me up. You make me off balance with your innocence and your stubbornness and those stars in your eyes. Lord knows I don't have the most stellar track record when it comes to women, but something is becoming alarmingly clear—crystal like when you wipe a foggy film off a glass mirror:
I think...I think I've fallen for you, Rosabella.
And I realize all this while you have no idea. From the outside, it just looks like an other, ordinary moment as you turn towards me, your eyes wide. You smile and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, waving me over, and you have no idea...what a damn slushie I am inside for you, girl. How the hell did this charred-black dragon turn into a slush pile? You have more power than you think, Rosabella.
"Sparo, I just got another message." You look breathless too, but for different reasons. Your cheeks flush red with worry, anger and, yet, determination.
"Look," you sputter, swiping in the air to bring up your digital message board.
"Only Rosabella got it," EmeraldCity quips next to her.
My eyes scan over the neon text floating in the air.
INBOX - MESSAGE
Game Maker, I have decided on my final thrill.
Sure, the little trifles of my affection you've been dealing with are funny, but this is no joking matter. You will restore order to The Game by nullifying all Gamers' creation magic and turning over ruling power of The Game to me, or you'll face another fate:
If you do not do as I say, death will befall all children and infants. My trifles have only affected the Higher Place at this moment. This one will not. The entire Game shall suffer as it is already due to your incompetence. Message me and surrender now, or babies will die. Your choice.
Not sincerely,
Skipper
Babies? She's killing kids now?
I gape at the message and at your face, Rosabella. You've started biting your nails and, since that's not a thing I've ever seen you do, I'm gonna take it as a bad sign.
"Hey—" I grab you by both shoulders, keeping my voice low and gentle as I stare into your face in my best attempt to calm those emotions rattling around in your eyes. Your shoulders seem so small in my large hands. "We're gonna fix this. I'll get the rest of the team. We'll figure this out—"
"My sister is threatening to kill children," EmeraldCity blurts, thrusting out an open hand, "No offense, Einstein, but there's nothing to figure out. ...And it looks like I'm not about to grab a nap around here anytime soon..."
I angle myself away from the loud, green-haired girl like I can separate her from you. "We'll figure it out," I vow again, leaning into your face and rubbing my hands up and down your arms.
"I just—" the words come out of your lips faint and shaking, "Is that something she can actually do? Kill all the kids? I mean, the little girl I saved from the Dragons Sea Town is here and the boy EmeraldCity brought in. The people—the Gamers—they trust me. This is supposed to be a safe place—a safe world—"
You're panicking. How do I get you not to panic?
"I'll—" I stumble over my own tongue in my mission to give you some options—some type of answers—"I'll go get Dormouse right now, and he can tell us if it's possible—"
"Oh hey guys, talking about me?"
My head snaps up, and I whip around to see—
The dork—nerd—whatever.
Dormouse.
Shoving his hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet beneath oversized pants. A wave of dark hair falls into his bashful face as he grins, lopsided at me.
"Actually..." I quip, "Wait, why are you here—?"
"We ran into a problem at the side door," Mimi steps forward from behind him. She brings a black walkie up to her lips, speaking into it. "Joy, bring her in."
Bring who in? I squint at them.
"We're kind of in the middle of a situation—" I start, but the words petter out.
Fade.
Into.
Complete.
...Oblivion.
As the dark figure of a woman is roughly jostled through the conservatory doors by a very pissed-off-looking Joy. ...And, for once, I don't begrudge the pink-haired girl; I stand with her.
It's Prickgada—her loose, gypsy clothing swirls around her feet and her dark, tightly-curled hair balloons in a wild mass around her pale face. ...But her eyes... Her eyes are the worst. I've seen that look before—that smug, know-it-all laugh glued strategically to her irises. And that look scares me more than I want to say. I swallow nervously. Why does she keep showing up in my reality???
Joy shoves her forward.
"Aparently, the witch has something she'd like to say to Rosabella," the pink-haired girl drones, "Something she thinks is going to save her sorry ass 'cause I was rightfully about to kick her to the curb—"
But this is too much. I won't let this woman—this bitch further enflame you, Rosabella. You're dealing with enough. I step in front of the pair, blocking their path to you.
"If she has something to say, she can say it to me instead," I snarl.
"Move aside, bitter dragon," Prickgada's tone is bored and unamused as she uses a hand to wave me off. "Trust me, Rosabella is going to want to hear it from me—"
"Hear what?"
And she's done it now.
You step around from behind me with that question.
And your eyes are liquid fire, mixing with tortured decision.
And the witch bitch smiles. This can't be good.
...But it's worse than I'd ever imagined because I watch Prickgada's hands go to her stomach. And she massages the folds of fabric there gently.
"I just came to tell you that I'll need protection and shelter," the woman starts.
Joy's grip on the witch's arm tightens, like her frown, "Well, we're not giving you either, you scum-of-the-earth. You tried to work with Goran and kill every last one of us—"
"Which is why I know you'll honor my request," Prickgada coos. Her chin lifts as she meets your stare directly, "Goran is exactly the reason that I'm here. Rosabella, I thought you might be interested to know I'm pregnant—with Goran's child. This baby will be your cousin...or sibling, whichever way you think of it..."
And I stare at that awful woman's hands, still massaging her stomach.
And I watch your face blanch.
Growing snow white.
Because Skipper just promised to kill all the kids if you don't do what she wants. And, now, you have another layer of that fact to deal with.
...Well this throws a giant wrench in an already fucked up machine.