“Yes,” Mr. Aubrey said. “Yes. Indeed. The new, golden markings.” His breathing steadied as he turned back to Sir Jessamyn. “Of all the hundreds of drawings that I’ve studied, only three of them have ever shown any similar patterns, along with that single stuffed specimen I mentioned. I’ve never before seen them on any living specimens of this captive breed, so there’s one saving grace—at least this madness can’t be common. You say the markings arrived only after the…events?”
“The first ones appeared at the same time as my illusion.” Elinor reached out to stroke the swirling golden lines that spread along Sir Jessamyn’s left cheek, and he leaned into her hand, eyes drifting halfway shut.
“I can tell you exactly when those markings on his neck appeared,” said Benedict. “It was just after Elinor wished for Lady Hathergill to speak her mind. Sir Jessamyn breathed fire onto her and frightened me half-out of my wits.”
“As ifthatmeans much,” said Mr. Aubrey gloomily. “What few wits you still bother to keep around, now that you’ve left Cambridge…” His voice trailed off. Horror crept across his features. “Wait. Did you say ‘wish?’”
Elinor frowned. “Well...that was what I said to Sir Jessamyn the first time,” she said. “And I suppose I may have used the word ‘wish’ again the second time, but—”
“‘I wish to know: what does your mother truly think,’” Benedict quoted. “Sorry, old man. It was definitely a wish.”
“Bloody hell,” said Mr. Aubrey. He lowered his head into his hands, the very picture of a broken man. “Bloody, bloody, bloody—”
“Mr. Aubrey!” Elinor stared. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Why are you even bothering to sit here talking to me?” Mr. Aubrey moaned into his hands. “What do I know about dragons, anyway? Obviously, you should be consulting a book of fairy tales instead.”
“Buck up, Aubrey.” Benedict clapped one hand against his friend’s shoulder. “Just think: you’ll be the one to inform the scientific community of the most amazing discovery of our era. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it might be,” said Mr. Aubrey bitterly, “if there was any chance of them believing me. But as there certainly isn’t…”
Elinor was frowning down at Sir Jessamyn. “You really think he was granting wishes?” she said to Benedict. “Like in a…” She swallowed back her final words, with a guilty look at Mr. Aubrey.
Benedict nodded. “And that’s not all,” he said. “It may have been a long time since my nursemaid used to tell me fairy tales at night, but there is one thing I do remember. How many wishes does everybody get?”
“That is absurd!” The words burst out of Mr. Aubrey. He jerked upright, glaring. “No, Hawkins, I will not go that far. It’s one thing to admit that there may be some tiny shred of validity to the occasional detail included in a fairy story, but—”
“Tell me,” Benedict said to his friend, “in those few similar pictures you saw of other dragons, did any of them have more than three sets of golden markings?”
Mr. Aubrey clamped his mouth shut. His expression was intent with concentration…and then despair. “That could be mere coincidence,” he said. “You can hardly call it scientific evidence.”
“Perhaps not,” said Benedict, “but all the rules of fairy tales started somewhere. Look here—her first wish brought this clever set to the left side of his face, the second set leads down and around his throat, and I’ll wager anything you like that the third wish will complete the pattern on the right. Scientific evidence or not, would you really wager against me?”
“It hardly matters,” said Elinor. “There isn’t going to be a third wish. Every time I make one—”
“Of course there has to be a third,” said Benedict. “How else are you to break the illusion?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Don’t you remember all the old stories? Every time anyone is ever granted three wishes, they always end up using the third wish to break all of the earlier ones.”
“I always hated that,” Mr. Aubrey muttered. “What a waste of time and energy! If they’d only used their wits and thought through all of their wishes in the first place…”
Benedict’s gaze rested on Elinor with a tenderness that warmed her even from two feet away. “Make your third wish,” he said. “Here. Now. With us. Or we can pack our bags and leave first, if you like, so you’re safely away from your relatives before the transformation happens.”
“No. I can’t.” Elinor pulled her hand away from Sir Jessamyn as if he were a loaded pistol. “I have to stay for Penelope’s début.”
“Oh, good God. If we’re going to start talking aboutdancesnow—!” Mr. Aubrey let out a heartfelt groan.
Benedict frowned. “But why—? Oh, yes. Your sisters?”
“That was the bargain I made with Sir John.” Elinor knotted her fingers together. “I have to—that is,Mrs. De Laceyhas to be present for the début, to raise Penelope’s social standing, or else he’ll attack my younger sisters in revenge for what I did. I can’t run away and let that happen.”
“Of course not.” Benedict sighed. “Well, we’ll simply have to wait a few days longer, then.” His smile looked forced. “Anyway, it’s probably for the best. Why not stay and enjoy some truly excellent, free food for a few more days while we think up a brilliant plan to find an income to be married with?”
“Why not?” Elinor doubted that her own smile was any more convincing than his.
She couldn’t wish away her first two wishes until she was safely distant from Hathergill Hall, or she’d be arrested for theft and Sir Jessamyn doomed to a life of misery and fear. But that might already be too late to save her aunt from a life of seclusion and despair…and she would never have enough spare wishes to save Benedict’s estate and let them marry.
He might be enough of a dreamer to believe in miracles, but Elinor knew exactly what she had just learned.
Even with all the help that Sir Jessamyn’s magic could give her, there would be no happy ending for their fairy tale.
