Fire
“Hereisquiet,”Dracothannounces as he holds open a massive, ornate wooden door for us to enter. I can see why it’s quiet, scanning the narrow, darkened street. It looks like a sinister place where a mugger might lurk. Our chains clink as Sandra and I tentatively step inside. A few Clown-dathians regard us with watchful eyes, sitting over their frothy drinks.
I swallow a lump in my throat, feeling like I’ve walked into a biker gang’s secret drinking den. But a large fire crackles in the corner, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I creep towards a massive table with sturdy chairs. The décor is impressive—old-fashioned—but still impressive. It’s crafted from solid, polishedwood with intricate carvings and designs. Some are runic symbols, while others have floral patterns.
The curious glances stop as Dracoth steps inside, his towering frame just clearing the archway. A couple of Clown-dathians even make a hasty exit. I can’t deny there’s something comforting about having a giant murderous protector around—except for the inconvenient fact he has me chained like a dog. But, as my mother used to say, you’ve got to look on the bright side—shewas right sometimes.
The chairs are heavy and tall even for me. I strain trying to drag one from under the table. Sandra fares no better; her face turns the same shade as her hair as she struggles to move hers.
Dracoth stomps over and effortlessly pulls them out for us, and I just about manage to hop onto mine.
I frown, a flicker of jealousy igniting when Dracoth helps Sandra into her seat, his hand sliding around her petite waist.
Why do I care? Why do I care?
I repeat the mantra, forcing the treacherous thought away. I promised Sandra I’d back off, so what good is it to get annoyed over something I shouldn’t care about? The answer is obvious—none.
Demon Egg-Head slides into the seat beside me, and I suppress a shudder.Ugh. I can almost feel his green eyes crawling over my skin. Dracoth sits next to Sandra, making the massive table appear small. He activates his wrist device, and it’s dim light mingles with the flickering flames, casting dancing shadows throughout the dingy room.
“Four borack milks, cinderroot soups, and glintfish fillets,” Dracoth announces, staring at the holographic projection.
“Sounds delicious!” Sandra exclaims, clutching onto Dracoth’s wrist and leaning closer. “Oh, is that the menu?”
“Hold on a second,” I scowl, feeling a spark of irritation. “Do we not get to choose?”
“Feel free to pick,” the annoying Demon Egg-Head titters, offering his wrist device for inspection. But all I see is a glowing list of strange symbols and icons that mean nothing. “Oh! Can’t read Klendathian? A shame... Perhaps leave it to us. It would be most unfortunate if you ordered vipertail soup.” He smirks, noticing my hesitation.
My hands clench under the table. His words and snarky attitude are pissing me off. “I want that one,” I snap, pointing at a random twisty shape glowing on his device.
Demon Egg-Head bursts into laughter, the sound sending a chill through me. “Ah, young Dracoth, the plump one would like a... Dark Matter Stout,” he pauses, and my skin crawls, feeling his lingering smirk, kissing the air. “A fine choice for our delicate snowdrop.”
‘Plump one,’ ‘snowdrop,’ ‘Dark Matter Stout’—the insults and ominous drink all mingle together, coalescing into a hot fury that sends my pulse racing as I grind my teeth. I crank my head around to glare at the irritating creep, who looks far, far too pleased with himself.
My mouth itches to lash out, a torrent of outrage ready to burst forth like a ruptured dam. No, Lexie! This is what he wants. I take a deep breath, struggling to remain calm.
“How... gracious of you,” I reply, squeezing a saccharine smile through clenched teeth.
Demon Egg-Head keeps his yellow, fanged smile, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his eyes. Maybe that’s the trick with this guy—kill him with kindness, like he’s a vampire fading to dust in the sunlight. His mouth twitches, and I brace for another snide remark, but he just turns back to Dracoth instead.
“Ordered,” Dracoth declares, shutting off his blue projection and reclining in his chair, his sharp claws drumming rhythmically against the table.
“I can’t wait!” Sandra chirps, still leaning close to Dracoth, her excitement bubbling over. “I’m bloody starving,” she adds, rubbing her stomach for emphasis.
“What did you order for us again? Goldfish stew?” I stick my tongue out, already picturing tiny goldfish floating belly-up in a bowl.Ugh, I hate fish—though anything must taste better than those jelly sticks... right?
“Glintfish,” Dracoth corrects with a low grumble, his claws still tapping away, the sound growing more irritating by the second.
“Glintfish?” I frown at the unfamiliar word. “Is that some kind of giant monster fish with razor-sharp teeth that devours people? Or does it sparkle in the dark or something?” I’m betting on the first option—everything I’ve seen so far has been murderous.
“Do you fear the dark, little snowdrop?” Demon Egg-Head cuts in mockingly, being a total creep as usual. His face remains shrouded beneath his hood, only the glowing green eyes and that predatory, yellow-fanged grin visible.
“I fear being eaten!” I snap back, suppressing the urge to shudder.
“The puffrio should fear the arrohawk,” Demon Egg-Head snickers. I sigh, wondering what crazy demonic nonsense he’s spurting. “The Glintfish hail from Gormoloch. A Clan Aquaxus delicacy. One of the few things of any worth they produce.”
He adds, sending my head spinning with these bizarre names.
“Hmph,” Dracoth grunts, still drumming away like he’s auditioning for a metal band.
