SAVE POINT 48

Loading The Dragon-Non-Dragon In A Coffee Shop...100%

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Rosabella

Oh my god, it's Sparo!

I'd know his face anywhere—though it feels so strange seeing his face here, outside of The Game, in a crampy New York coffee shop.

"Well, call me a dragon!" the dark-skinned man quips, flashing a smile at me that has mixed results on my insides...mostly butterflies.

From behind his shoulder, I watch Dormouse roll his eyes, "You are a dragon."

"Not the point here," Sparo rolls his eyes back, lowering his voice for a minute to hiss at the nerd, "These people here don't know that." Raising his voice above a normal level and a waving finger, he gestures to the bustling barista behind the counter, "Please get my lovely friends here two, large, iced coffees and—oh, two of whatever those croissant things are...three," he amends as an afterthought, licking his lips, "Definitely three.".

Dormouse looks flustered; the boy throws his hands down in annoyance, thin lines forming on his pale forehead as Sparo spins to pay and the cash register chimes in the background. "How are you even paying for all this?" he balks at the man.

And Sparo lifts a finger to his lips, tucking the extra cash into his pocket with the other hand and sliding into the chair opposite me at the tiny table.

"Okay, I guess I'll just get my own chair then..." Dormouse complains, making a big show of dragging a plastic seat from another table across the floor, the legs emitting a high-pitched whining and thudding screech against the linoleum.

I stifle a laugh at the kid's disgust.

Sparo shakes his head like he's completely in the right here and getting slightly offended about it, "I just got you a coffee now, didn't I?" He turns to me, speaking out of the corner of his mouth in a murmur, "...Is he always this much fun?"

...Like the comment's a secret between the two of us.

—Even though Dormouse most certainly heard it.

And the smile finally breaks out on my face—the one I've been hellbent on holding back since seeing the man because... Because I've been trying to forget how magnetic he is...and how I feel when I'm around him.

Warm.

Content.

...Magical.

It's not fair. How can one person make you feel all of those things and, also, have saved your life? Maybe more than once...

I lean across the wobbling, round table, lowering my voice into seriousness, "I never got to say thank you for getting me to Prickgada's...for trading yourself for a health pack and the prophesy cheat code. You saved my life again—"

"Nah," he tries to wave me off with an unbothered hand, though I see a strange solemness coloring his eyes underneath, "you would have done the same for me." He wets his lips, as though to say something more when the nerd flops down at our table.

Damn it. What was he going to say?

"Dormouse!" Sparo counters, instead, loudly and cheerfully, "What brings you to this fine city? I'm happy to see you again—both of you." He ducks a shy look up at me that makes my hands tingle—God, I have to get control of myself. I hope that my cheeks don't blush scarlet as I catch his eye. I quickly look down, reaching for the napkin dispenser in the middle of the table and piling a stack of them for us just to look busy.

"How the heck did you get away from the sorceress?" Dormouse wants to know, ignoring both Sparo's questions and his chipper tone by interjecting with a sour one, "She was crazy."

The dark-skinned man stirs his straw around in his drink, "Oh, she toyed with me long enough and, then, decided to let me go. Not before I stole some creator magic though..." He winks at me.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Hence the human form.

And the cash.

"Sparo, what are you doing here?" I ask, concern leaking into my voice. Isn't it a little strange that, of all the places we end up, the dragon is here? In a New York coffee shop? In Earth reality? It makes me a little suspicious. I'd say he was following us, but he was here before us so...

The man clears his throat awkwardly, "Oh, it's probably just a hope, but I'm chasing down the loser human who cost me my job. The prison fired me, if you can believe it. Literally, terminated. All 'cause of one asshole—"

"Goran." His name lodges in my throat even as it comes, blurting out at full speed.

The dragon-non-dragon looks taken aback. His huge hands knead into a knot at the center of the table like he'd prefer to punch something, "Yeah, that's the one. Supposedly he lives in this shithole city—"

"Ooh, don't insult New York in front of Rosabella," Dormouse warns, "She's from here."

Sparo squints at me in disgust, "You are?"

"It's okay," I tell Dormouse, trying to quiet him down and take the conversation and Sparo's attention off me. The man's eyes are a fierce brown, almost piercing into my soul with the way he's looking at me. It's hard to breathe! "I don't really even like this place anymore," I babble.

"All they get right is their coffee, speaking of which..." Sparo trails, sliding out of his seat and towards the coffee pick-up counter.

His movement gives Dormouse and I the opening we need. The dork leans close, whispering, "Are you gonna tell him about the plan and how Goran's trying to destroy The Game? I don't think we should trust him—"

"We can trust him," I mummer back, nodding as my eyes dart to the man's back every three seconds to ensure we aren't being overheard, "He saved my life more times than I can count—"

"And here you are..." Sparo's torso leans over us, presenting the two, iced coffees with a flourish.

...While Dormouse shakes his head at me, trying to cover it up by looking out the window to the busy New York street when Sparo catches him. But the dark-skinned man is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and his sparkling eyes wiggle between my face and the nerd's uncertainly, "...So... What's going on?"

"We're here to find Goran too," I blurt.

And Dormouse's face and shoulders fall as he has a mini meltdown over his iced coffee. I feel bad, but I really feel it's the right call, letting the dragon in on our mission.

"Can I talk to you...privately?" the kid hisses at me, not even caring to hide his open hostility towards Sparo.

...Well, here we go. I just landed in his doghouse...

I nod and the lanky kid stands, hunched over and shuffling to the side awkwardly in an attempt to find somewhere in the cramped coffee shop where we won't be overheard...a feat which feels nearly impossible with people shouldering by. I grab the boy's arm and haul him into a corner, pushing past the bathroom door sign for the women's room and yanking the boy inside.

"The woman's restroom? Really?!" he laments, already looking like he's sweating.

The women's room is really just two water closets painted a God-awful shade of bubble gum, a counter with a sink and one picture of Marlin Monroe hanging sideways from where someone probably hit it walking out three years ago and no one's ever fixed it. No tampon dispenser. No changing table. Literally nothing that the nerd could be offended by...except for the color pink. It's everywhere. ...And, probably, a constant reminder for the kid that we aren't in the men's bathroom... He needs to get over it.

"You said you want to talk, talk," I spit back.

And he nods, running an anxious hand through his dark hair, ducking his chin again. "I don't think we can trust Sparo, Rosabella. Rainer sent just you and I. We can do this alone—"

"But we don't have to," I tell him, getting more passionate about it than I expect, "Sparo's smart, and he has the same goal. He could be useful—"

"He could be obnoxious," the kid counters with a raised eyebrow.

So that is why! It's just a difference of personalities.

I grab the boy by both shoulders, trying to get him to look at me directly. "One hundred percent, he's going to be obnoxious," I tell him squarely, "But teaming up is our best chance of finding Goran—"

"Okay, okay, okay," Dormouse gripes, admitting defeat and shaking his head incessantly, "I get it, you win. But you owe me big time—"

"Agreed," I tell him, my own shoulders sagging, just relieved that he'd conceded.

And I push open the heavy women's restroom door, throwing all my weight against it just to get out of the place. The wood is cold on my palms, and I see the restaurant is even busier than when we'd stepped aside.

But, from behind me, Dormouse shutters and, then, goes into panic mode.

"Oh my God," he wheezes, his face contorting, "She's here!"

I spin to try to follow his gaze, confused, "Who's here?"

"Maude!" he squeaks, his face clenched in utter terror.

And I turn.

And, sure enough, the willowy, blonde girl stands, hand on her hip, with another brunette girl at the order counter. Her high-pitched voice chatters loudly to the barista behind the counter as she points a manicured finger at the menu board overhead.

It's her.

Dormouse's crush from the side mission.

In real life.

And, in real life, it looks like the kid is about to dead faint.