ALL NOVEL Chapter 4: Home again
The neat thing about so faithfully doing the morning calls is that my humans know when I’m here and when I’m not. My cry is distinctive and nobody can mistake it for anyone else's. And, it carries into the other nearby neighborhoods.
Obviously, this noise is part of the motivation to relocate dragons, because the city didn’t used to be like this two weeks ago.
But anyway, when I flutter down to the coffee shop and make my way inside, I’m greeted by the Kims, Kim and Kimberly. And it’s Kim who pushes my purse and change of clothing across the counter as I approach it.
“Apparently,” Kim says, “somebody turned these into the Magnolia Apartments lost and found, and Rhoda found them there yesterday and brought them to us to give to you.” She shakes a finger at me, and asks, “The yooj?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Here, let me help you with that,” she insists, and then comes around the counter to help me put my purse back on to hang around my neck. But I make her pause in the process to help me search the inside to make sure it’s got all of my stuff in it.
It does. Including the amulet, which is a huge relief.
“I can put your clothes in a bag,” she says. “And you can come back to the counter and take them when you’re ready to leave, if you like.”
I smile.
“Your drink is on the house,” Kimberly shouts over the steaming wand. “You do not get to object. Welcome home!”
“Okay,” I say, and head to my table.
With the Kims here in the morning, it’s definitely not the weekend. I’m guessing that today is Friday. I could pull my tablet out and look.
Instead, I watch my friends go about making coffee and taking orders from the next couple of customers. I’m really appreciating the fact that I can be here, now, and that I get a chance to get to know them better. It’s not that I haven’t watched them a lot, before, it’s that we’ve never really talked with each other much until I came out physically as a dragon. And, even now, we haven’t really had a chance for anything that wasn’t concerning my immediate wellbeing.
But, if I’m not going to be stuck out in the wilderness, and I get to be home, I can resolve maybe to ask them some questions about themselves sometimes.
Everyone calls them the Kims because they have the same first three letters in their names, and it’s kind of funny. But they’re very different people. I don’t have any trouble telling them apart, physically.
Kim is small, with dark curly hair that is always well styled, and she likes to wear blues and browns together. Sometimes she dresses in a really classic femme way, and sometimes more casual in overalls or shorts. And she has a raspberry colored REI jacket she wears over whatever else she’s got on whenever the weather turns cold or damp.
Kim likes reading books, and will talk your ear off about whichever one she’s currently reading, and its author, and their other books.
Kimberly is a punkish trans woman, taller, with hair she dyes frequently in different colors, currently trimmed long in the front and short in the back. She likes stripes, safety pins, and patches. She has a jean jacket that she’s converted into a vest and covered with marker scribbles, patches, and buttons. And she plays bass in three separate bands. And when she laughs she sounds like a fifth grader who just heard a naughty joke from a classmate.
I think Kim is older, but I’m really not sure.
I’m fairly certain that both of them are a decade or so younger than me. But when it comes to getting along with people and maybe being friends, I’ve never really cared much about that, and I’ve often found my judgment of age is way off anyway.
Tom and Amy, the two regulars they’re helping, are almost certainly older than me. I think. And they have a large black poodle named Cody who’s just outside the door. Cody and I are now looking at each other.
I’m specifically looking at Cody out of my right eye alone, so as not to lock gazes with him and transfix him. The old fart doesn’t need that. So, I do notice quite easily when Tom walks up to me from placing his order.
“Hey, Meg. I didn’t hear you in the morning song the last two days,” he says, hands in his pockets. “But I heard you this morning. Everything all right?”
“Yes. No,” I say, and then start pulling out my tablet.
“Oh, no need to worry about explaining it. I get it. Life is life. Just wanted to make sure you knew we’re thinking of you,” he says, turning toward his wife who is now joining him. “Amy, did you order the bacon cinnamon roll?”
“You know I did,” she replies.
“Excellent!”
Annoyed at being dismissed in the middle of getting ready to explain myself, I use the glyph system to say, “Child. Nap. D.” And then immediately say, “No,” out loud.
“‘Child. Nap. D’?” Amy asks, squinting at me. “Oh. Did you mean to say, ‘kidnapped’?”
“Yes.”
She points at Tom and says, “I told you that was a helicopter the last few nights. Flew right over our house!” I’m impressed she put that together so fast.
“What can I say, I’m a deep sleeper,” Tom says.
Kim makes her way around them to deliver a bowl of mocha to me. My usual is plain black coffee. The mocha is for when I’m splurging.
“Oh, sweet! Can I change my order to that?” Tom asks.
“You want me to dump your marquis out?” Kimberly shoots back.
“No! No,” Tom says. “I’m just joking. But one day I won’t be.”
“Meg is queen here, Tom, so the biggest bowl is hers,” Kim says. “But if you ask her politely to knight you, maybe you can have the second biggest one.”
Everyone laughs at that long enough I get to type out a simple sentence.
“Not queen. Just Meg,” I let my tablet say.
Kim pauses on her way back to the counter to scowl lightly at me, and asks, “But your Discord?”
“No,” I say, then hit talk again. “Not queen. Just Meg.” Then I go about drinking some of my mocha. Which is a somewhat messy endeavor, but it means I get to lick mocha off my snout and chin afterward.
Tom looks down at me and says, “You know, Meg. Sometimes rulership gets thrust upon you when you least want it.”
“People like the reluctant ruler,” Amy agrees.
Kim gestures at the two of them and says, “Tough beans for you, Queen Meghan!”
Jesus.
You know what? I want a different expletive to use in cases like this, even when it’s just internally to myself. Something appropriate to being who and what I am, an agnostic dragon.
Smaug?
Gorbash?
King Ghidorah! Ooh, that has a nice rhythm to it.
I don’t know.
Anyway, frickin’ humans not letting me set a personal social boundary. I’m going to change that server name, though. I do not deserve it.
Tom and Amy get their drinks to go and head out to continue taking Cody for a walk. But before the door closes, Rhoda hobbles in with her cane.
She’s wearing a set of galaxy print leggings and a maroon sweater dress, with her grey New Balance shoes and a black straw hat. And she comes directly to sit down at my table.
“I’d like my tea,” she calls out to the counter. “On my tab.”
“No problem, Rhoda!” Kim calls back cheerfully.
Rhoda’s my neighbor. She’s been treating me like the dragon I am since before my metamorphosis, and I’ve only recently realized how special that is. She was the first to suggest an AAC app for my old tablet, and she’s been coordinating with the rest of my friends to help move things forward on the political front, to help coax the government to protect us dragons rather than reject us.
I like her a lot, and I’m realizing just how much I missed her while I was away, now that I see her.
I want to do things for her. If I can only figure out what to do.
It takes her a little bit to get situated in her chair and comfortable, but once she is, she looks directly at my face and puts a hand out onto the table and asks, “How are you? Are you OK?” And then she waits for me to talk.
“Okay. Now,” I say. Then, seeing her continue to wait, I take my time to type out a longer response on my tablet, “Kidnapped. Beyond Ross Lake. Forest. Mountains. Flew back with Joel.”
“You flew back that whole way?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, then hit home and pull up the map app.
It takes me a bit of careful keying to do the search and orient the map, and finally Rhoda offers to help me. I don’t know what mountain I was left on, and it takes some scrolling around the Pasayten Wilderness while zoomed in to find it, which Rhoda mostly does for me, with me looking on.
“Yes,” I say, when I recognize the three little lakes on the Northeast side. “Okay.”
Then I zoom the map out a couple times and drag it to center the view between Quartz Mountain and Fairport. And then I trace our flight path with my knuckle without touching the screen.
“That’s a long way!” Rhoda exclaims.
Then I turn my head to the right and gesture at my freshly Bondo-ed horn with my left claw.
“What in Heaven’s Name? Who did that to you?”
Back to the ACC app, I take the time to say, “Equisetum Wildlife.” The app pronounces it badly.
She scowls and says, “That’s not right. That’s not right at all. Why?”
“Got tagged,” I say. “Drill hole for tag. Harold fix.” Oh, it’s so nice to have my voice back. But I’m finding I’m frustrated with it again.
Rhoda squints and shakes her head and says, “I don’t… Nevermind. Is that Bondo?”
“Yes.”
She thinks about it and then asks, “Did someone put Bondo on that for you? Are you saying someone named Harold did that after removing your tag?”
“Yes.”
“OK. That’s still not right, but OK.”
I have no idea what the Bondo job looks like because I haven’t looked in a mirror yet. But I do know it’s not the same color as my horn.
“I hope Chapman has some sort of neat trick to fix that properly for you, because I am at a loss,” Rhoda says.
“Okay,” I respond, trying to reassure her.
“Yes, OK,” she says. Then she leans forward to talk to me more directly as Kim delivers her tea. “Now. We all heard that blasted helicopter Tuesday night when they came to take you away. It was loud! Chapman figured it was the same one that came at us in the park Monday evening, and looked into it for you. It’s nice that you can confirm it was. But in any case, Chapman also verified that that company, Equisetum Wildlife, is owned by Daniel Säure. And there’s something conspicuous about that man besides the fact that he has more money than anyone should.”
“Yes,” I say, more as a prompt for her to keep going.
She takes it, “Mr. Säure hasn’t been seen in person by anyone since two weeks ago. Now, I don’t know exactly what that means, but it cannot be a coincidence.”
I close my eyes slowly but also tilt my chin up sharply twice as well.
Could he be another dragon? Did he go into hiding?
If that’s the case, why would a company he owns be trying to work with the police and the Sheriff to remove dragons from the city?
“It suggests all sorts of weird possibilities, doesn’t it?” Rhoda says. “I mean, maybe Equisetum is just doing this because it’s what they do and the Sheriff hired them to, with permission of the Chief of police. Or something like that. But if Säure is a dragon, or is nursing a loved one who is a dragon, either he’s temporarily cut off from his companies or he’s in on the deal for a very personal reason. And I’m thinking it’s the latter.”
I don’t know what to do with this, though. It’s a compelling idea, and I’m already thinking it’s probably true. But now I’m realizing I don’t really have the power to go after him, even if he is just a human.
I don’t know where he lives or works.
I can only hope he shows up at a Council meeting to speak on behalf of one or more of his companies, but the likelihood of me being there is about as low as of him being there if he’s gone missing. I need to negotiate with Waits before I do that. The courthouse and Council chambers are in Waits’ territory.
Waits being my nickname for one of my neighbors. Waits’ cry sounds like wood creaking and unidentifiable objects clattering in a rhythmic pattern. And we got in a fight because I was dumb, and Waits put a nasty gash across my back, which is still healing.
Chapman did an amazing job of suturing that gash last Sunday, using hir art, and it hasn’t bothered me since. I check it every now and then, but it never seems worth mentioning. It looks good.
But that fight and that gash happened because that Equisetum Wildlife helicopter chased me off my roof into Waits’ territory, and I haven’t had a chance to reconcile with Waits yet.
I remember hoping that Rhoda and the Opportunity Council could make sure Waits had a tablet or something they could use to talk and to access my Discord server with.
“Waits have tablet?” I ask. Rhoda knows who I’m talking about.
“Huh? What?” Rhoda asks, then shakes her head and says, “No. That’s been difficult. We’re working to set them up with a console in a room at the Library. The goal is to convince them to let other dragons use it too. The Maker Space is building a huge custom keyboard for it. But it’s taking a while.”
I huff.
“I know,” she says. “Waits doesn’t have the articulation that you have in your limbs, same as Joel, so it’s a real trick.”
“Shit,” I say. This is going to be a real trick indeed. It’s going to create a bottleneck in communication. I don’t like that. We need to build our draconic coalition faster than this.
“Indeed,” Rhoda agrees, but doesn’t say anything further.
“Mayor daughter?” I ask.
Rhoda points at my tablet and says, “You should check out your Discord server. I think you’ll be surprised and pleased. Maybe a little whelmed by it.”
I look at my tablet for a second before doing anything, then open the app.
There are thirty-two new messages directly tagging me. And sixteen new members.
Oh, OK.
Looking over the names, I have no idea who is who, and I realize I didn’t make an introductions channel. Which is what some of the messages are about, requesting that I make one. But, the general discussion channel has turned into a place for introductions, so I scroll through that.
Still not sure which one is the Mayor’s daughter, because she doesn’t identify herself as such. But Rhoda points her out.
“That’s her,” she says.
Jamila_da_kila
“Not her real name,” Rhoda says. “But she told Astraia what her username was, and there it is. She’s sixteen, by the way.”
I bob my head.
“Now, you can look up her real name via a handful of newspaper articles, or ask Mayor Chisholm, or, more appropriately, ask her,” Rhoda says. “But, I’m thinking that’s not so important for what we’re doing yet, and that Jemila_da_kila here should have as much control over that as she can be given.”
“Yes,” I say. It reminds me that I want to go about changing my own legal name to Meghan. Which is going to be a very interesting experience, considering I don’t look anything like my ID now. And I’m not sure if that’s going to cause any problems. But, I get it.
Controlling the fate of your own identity is important. Especially when you’re the sixteen year old daughter of Fairport’s first Black Mayor. Even if it’s already public knowledge because of careless journalists.
A notification pops up in my SMS messaging group and my tablet vibrates. I have it set up to silent mode with vibration because I don’t want it making actual noises when I’m doing draco-diplomatic stuff like waiting in ambush or bowing in subservience to someone way bigger than me.
But the vibration is audible on the table, and Kim looks over at me from behind the counter and grins, finger pointed at her own phone.
“Just letting Chapman know you’re home and up,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply, looking at the message.
There’s a whole bunch of unread messages there. This group is for all my humans. Everyone who aligns themselves with this coffee shop or the building it’s in, and who like to consider me and the others of their kind a sort of chosen family that’s now about a week old.
A lot of the messages are about looking for me.
Kim’s is very specific that I’m sitting at my table with Rhoda.
And that’s when I feel a shift in the fabric of spacetime that causes one of my nerves to kind of twang. I can pinpoint exactly where it came from in the city, too. Almost directly southeast of me and on the edge of the next neighborhood. Right at Chapman’s desk.
Sie scanned for me using hir art, putting wrists together to complete a tattooed circuit of sorts. There has to be a mental component to the enchantment or spell or whatever Chapman calls it. I’ve seen hir do it before, and it’s the only way it makes sense. Sie has way more than a directional specificity when using it. Sie can not only choose a target but also choose what to learn about that target.
I’m pretty sure sie was only confirming that I’m here myself. Sie’s promised not to be invasive in other ways, though apparently sie can be when pressed to do so, such as by reading my mind. Sie’d rather read the future a few seconds ahead to predict my actions than to read my mind, though, sie has said.
This is all a badly kept secret. But I’m the only one besides Joel that I know of that can sense when Chapman does something with hir art.
At least, I thought I saw Joel react to it once.
Another message comes in, this one from Chapman, “Blowing off work. I’ll be right over.”
I really, really want an oversized keyboard and my own computer to use so that I can write up what I’ve just been through in more detail more easily. And now would be a really nice time to have it. So that I can inform everyone in a timely manner.
