When Women Were Dragons(79)

“But what if—”

“Promise me you won’t.” I was emphatic.

She looked at me. The corners of her mouth quivered downward even as she struggled to stay neutral. “But,” she paused. Her lips shook. She put her hand on my cheek. “What if you told the story wrong? What if it was staying a girl that made that sister die of sorrow? Maybe if the dragoned sister stayed, then she would have died too. Maybe they would both die of sorrow.”

What would have happened if my mother had dragoned? What would have happened if she followed her sister into the sky? Would she have died? I forced that thought away. It did me no good to think it. I gave Beatrice a hard look. I stood and lifted Beatrice onto my hip even though she was way too big. I brought her to the kitchen sink to wash her hands and face. “I think you weren’t paying attention to the story.”

“Maybe you weren’t,” Beatrice said.

“Time for bed,” I announced.

It wasn’t, actually. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. The sky was light. Kids were playing outside. Beatrice went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was asleep inside of twenty minutes. It appeared that dragoning was tiring. Or almost dragoning. Or dragoning-undragoning. It was hard to tell. I sat down next to her and laid my hand on her forehead. She slept deeply, her breathing slow and easy, but she was hot to the touch. A fever? Post-almost-dragoning sickness? What even happened to a person when they nearly dragoned and then didn’t? I didn’t know. I went to the only source of dragoning information I had. I climbed up on the kitchen counter and reached into the space between the cabinet and the ceiling, and pulled down the sack where I had hidden my aunt Marla’s bundle of treasures.

I set the letters and pictures aside and pulled out the booklet, Some Basic Facts About Dragons: A Physician’s Explanation. It had been so long since I last looked at it. But now I stared. Under “Researched and Written by a Medical Doctor Who Wishes to Remain Anonymous” was my aunt’s handwriting: “Also known as Dr. Henry Gantz. You can’t fool me, old man.”

I put it down, cradling my head in my hands.

The old man by the river. I thought he had been observing a cow. Why on earth would anyone take extensive notes on a cow stuck in a cranberry bog? And then I thought he was simply bird-watching. My god, I thought. I’ve been so stupid.

If I had Mrs. Gyzinska’s phone number, I would have called her right away. But I didn’t. One thing was clear, though: I needed to get to the library as soon as possible.



Later that evening, just after sundown, when the sky was still washed over with purple and gold and bursts of rosy light, my aunt showed up outside my apartment building. She waited on the sidewalk using a large concrete planter as a stool. I stared at her from my window, but she did not look up. Instead, she pulled out her knitting from her purse and began working on what looked like a sweater, her needles dancing swiftly in her talons.

I went outside. Everyone else on my block headed in the opposite direction—running from their cars into doorways. Everyone else hurried away. Likely calling the police. There was a dragon about, after all. Marla didn’t seem to care. I looked down the street and gasped. Another dragon lingered under a leafless maple tree, gazing wistfully into an upper-floor apartment window, her neck unfurled in a graceful sway, her head bobbing up and down. Her paws were pressed against her heart.

How many were there, anyway?

Aunt Marla didn’t look up. Her eyes focused on her knitting. I cleared my throat. She still didn’t look up.

“What did you do?” My voice rasped terribly. I tried to set my face. It didn’t work nearly as well as before.

Marla continued to knit. “I can hardly tell what you mean,” she said mildly. The sweater was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. My aunt was so beautiful I thought I’d die of it. It was cold out, but I didn’t need a coat. The heat pouring off my aunt was all the warmth I needed.

I closed my eyes and took a long breath through my nose. I wanted to throw something at her, but I didn’t think it would do any good. I almost lost my sister, and there was only one person to blame. If I could be Saint George with his steed and spear, I would pierce my aunt through the middle without thinking twice. “Beatrice is the only family I have and I love her more than you could possibly know. She nearly . . . changed today. She nearly turned into one of you. I’ll ask it again. What did you do?”

She looked up. Held my gaze. And smiled a dragonish smile, all gold and glitter.

“That’s not how this works, my love. Whatever happened to Beatrice originated with her. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t believe you.” I wanted to kick something.

My aunt tilted her head. Her eyes flashed. “I already told you. Long ago when you were little. It’s just magic. All of us got some. It calls to us—all the time really, but sometimes louder than others. And some of us are better than others at tuning it out. Years ago, it called quite loudly—an insistent wail, sounding through the whole country. It was louder than it ever had been before and no one really knows why. A lot of us answered, for reasons that should be fairly obvious. Thousands and thousands of us made the leap. All at once. It called and I answered and I didn’t look back. Your mother could have—it called to her too. Maybe she nearly did. It’s impossible for me to say. What I do know is that your mother should have answered it. But she didn’t. And now here we are. If Beatrice nearly changed today, it means she is simply answering the call that’s been speaking to her since she was born. Even when she was a baby I could see it on her face. That girl’s been part dragon since the moment she kicked in the womb. You really want to stand in the way of nature?” she snorted. “Good luck.”