Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace Page 13

  Fortunately, she had a backup plan already in place. “Susan’s already agreed to go with me. Just drop us off at the mall entrance, and pick us up two hours later. No muss, no fuss. Okay?”

  It worked out passably well, Jennifer thought later on after she had gotten back home. Susan and she were dutifully impressed by Skip’s dad. He had the same greenish blue eyes and chocolate hair, he dressed in the casual clothes of a man who made his living in construction, and his eyes seemed always wrinkled at the corners in a friendly laugh.

  “Mr. Wilson?!” He chuckled when Jennifer addressed him this way.

  “My, what a polite young woman you are, Ms. Scales! Very well, Mr. Wilson will do.”

  Over take-out sushi, they discussed school, soccer, the upcoming Christmas holiday, and even a bit of Skip’s mom. According to Skip and his father, she would take her son around the world—western Africa, Australia, and South America—as part of her studies in native cultures.

  Suddenly, the conversation turned to Jennifer’s own travels, and the one tense moment of the evening.

  “Skip tells me you’re away from school a lot, and that you’re going through a tough time.” His greenish blue eyes lost some of their sparkle. “I know something about what you’re going through. I expect it isn’t easy for your family.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Her blood was turning cold. What if Skip’s mom, just like Susan’s, had died after a long illness? She would never be able to explain to either of them the truth—not after faking the sort of sickness that had hurt them so deeply.

  Seeing everyone stare at her made her realize she should answer. She chose her words carefully. “It’s pretty hard. I’ll be gone a lot this winter and spring. Skip and Susan have been very understanding. I’m lucky to have them as friends.”

  Susan reached out next to her and grabbed her hand. They exchanged soft smiles, but Jennifer felt even worse than she had before. She decided then and there: I’ll tell them both the truth. Soon.

  She just needed a bit more time to get used to the truth herself.

  Weeks went by, and Jennifer supposed she was adjusting. Both her strange dreams and the animal visions were gone, and she supposed that had to count for something. She felt she could settle into school a bit, even though it still seemed pointless. The routine of classes and friends was still comforting, for however long it lasted.

  Certainly her freakishness had its advantages, even in human form. One mid-December morning she jumped from the ground halfway up the icy trellis to her bedroom window without wings. And the school bullies certainly walked more softly around her. Word of her recurring sickness did not seem to overshadow word of Bob Jarkmand’s pasting at her hands months ago. Skip called her “my bodacious bodyguard,” which was as exasperating as it was endearing.

  Christmas morning, she was in the shape of a girl, and even better, she was in the shape of a girl with an alarmingly high stack of presents. Both of her parents and Grandpa Crawford were there—Joseph insisted that he never celebrated the holiday, and would watch the farm for them while they were in Winoka—and they had all been very generous in this most trying of years.

  She placed another sweater—this one a gorgeous riot of blue, gold, and green—on her new clothing pile, half-listening to a conversation between the other three. Most of her attention was on the next gift, the size of a shoebox with gold foil wrapping and bow, as her father filled her grandfather in on some development at work.

  “—last week’s city council meeting, where we were trying to get approval of a site plan—”

  She shook the box. It rattled satisfactorily.

  “—ran into Otto Saltin, of all people! I didn’t even know he lived anywhere near here. He happened to have business before the council on the same night. Anyway, we steered clear of each other—”

  She smelled it and grinned. The Godiva truffle box! And larger than ever this year, she noticed as she clawed the paper off in a single stroke.

  “—company’s been doing business in town for at least the last couple of years. I’ll have to—Hey, not before breakfast, miss!”

  “Aw, Dad,” she whined. The golden box glittered invitingly. “Just one?”

  “Just one would become just eight.” Her father softened a bit. “After breakfast, go crazy. Have a truffle party.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for all the great gifts, you guys. It’s—” . . . been a tough year, she thought. Been great to have my space while I figure things out. Been even better to have us all together for the holidays. Going to be best of all to sneak a truffle out of the box when no one’s looking. “—er, it’s really great.”

  “You’re not done yet,” Jonathan said. He rose and ambled upstairs. A minute later he came back down and handed her a small box with holes punched all over. It fit into her hand neatly. The logo for Daniel’s Pets (the D was a curled up cat and the P was a dog sitting up on its hind legs) marked the sides, top, and bottom.

  “What is it?” She gently tilted the box. Something skittered inside. “It’s too small to be a puppy, unless you got me one of those irritating, yappy, small ones—”

  “Ugh. No. I’d eat one of those before I’d have it in our house,” he said with a shudder. “No, it’s something more, ah, suitable to your nature. Some dragons like to have . . . well, they like to have companions.”

  Phoebe chose that moment to push her muzzle into Jennifer’s lap. The dog got one whiff of the box, raised her enormous ears, and began to growl through her muzzle.

  Jennifer flicked her on the snout. “Don’t get jealous, Phoebe! It doesn’t become you.” The dog whimpered softly and jogged out of the room.

  Lifting the top flap, Jennifer peered inside the box.

  A small, delicate lizard gazed back up at her. It was a joyful, vivid green and sported a red streak down its back. Its eyes were tiny pools of fathomless black. The corners of its mouth were ticked upward in a permanent, silly grin.

  “Huh! It’s . . . um . . . it’s . . .”

  “It’s a gecko. And let me tell you, that’s no ordinary lizard. He practically leapt into my pocket while your mother and I were browsing the pet store. We had to convince the manager we weren’t trying to shoplift him.”

  The gecko smoothly scurried up to the edge of the box, clung to the open flap, and licked its own eye with a lightning-fast, spoon-shaped tongue.

  “He’s adorable! What’s his name?”

  “You can decide that after you agree to handle his care or feeding. Or hers. Or whatever.” Her mother’s tone suggested not everyone had left the pet store happy.

  “The cashier said it’s a he,” Jonathan offered enthusiastically.

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s a he! I just know it!”

  Her mother smiled vaguely. “Fabulous. A telepathic lizard. The next time you and he commune, make sure you both understand that neither your father nor I are responsible for him. There are some books in our room, and a tank, and supplies. You move it all to your room and set it up. Assuming you want to keep him.”

  “You bet! Oh, thanks, he’s great, Geddy’s just great! I can’t wait to—”

  “Geddy?” Her mother snickered. “Geddy the gecko?”

  “You said I could name it, and that’s the name I like,” Jennifer said with a sniff. She didn’t know why she had chosen that one. It just seemed to fit.

  Geddy licked his other eye.

  “Those books tell you all sorts of neat things,” Jonathan offered. “For example, smaller geckos live for about fifteen or twenty years—the shop owner said he didn’t know how old this one was, but figured he couldn’t be more than a couple years. They shed their skin every six weeks or so in warmer weather and eat it. Also, if a predator catches one, it can detach its own tail! Also—”

  “I’ll read the books, Dad. Promise.” She lifted Geddy off the box flap with a finger and held him up to her eyes. “I thought geckos made noise. Isn’t that how they get their name—gek-ko, gek-ko?”

&nb
sp; In response, Geddy licked one eye, then the other, then the first one again.

  “He hasn’t made a peep since we got him.”

  “Huh. I guess Geddy’s a freak, just like me.” But Jennifer said this with a smile. “Aren’t youuu, my widdle Geddy-gecko-poo? We’re two widdle peas in a pod!”

  Phoebe whined from a distance. Elizabeth looked ready to retch. But Jonathan and Crawford smiled.

  “I used to have a little fella just like that one,” Crawford said. “You’ll be surprised what a gecko can do for a dragon.”

  “Can it clean her room?” Elizabeth asked. She and her father-in-law exchanged looks, but Jennifer didn’t notice. All she could do was titter as Geddy slunk across her hand and arm, up her ticklish neck, and through a mane of sliver and gold hair to perch upon her head.

  CHAPTER 11

  Newolves

  They flew back under cover of darkness the day after Christmas, all three of them in a line—her grandfather, her father, and herself. She was looking forward to spending time as a dragon with her father—the bad feelings between them on that cold October morning had passed over time, and this last Christmas present had sealed the deal.

  Said present was currently clinging to her horn with ferocious nonchalance. Jennifer had expressed worry that Geddy, being cold-blooded, would freeze to death, but the others had assured her he would be fine. Her mother agreed, with something approaching disdain, to bring up the tank and supplies in the minivan in a few days. In the meantime, the lizard would have the run of the cabin.

  “We’ll have to find you a cricket or two from the barn,” she whispered to him as his spoon-shaped tongue hung out of his mouth a tiny bit. “Or maybe you’ll brave one of Grandpa’s hornet nests. They’re a bit more sluggish in winter, you know.”

  Thick clouds hid the moon as they streamed through the night, a distance off the highway. The scent of snow was on the air at least ten minutes before the first soft flakes sprinkled their wings. By the time they reached the cabin, an inch of powder covered the driveway.

  “I’d better go check in with the newolves,” Grandpa called out as he veered over the eastern pastures. “Jon, you and Jennifer get set up, and let Joseph know we’re back. Maybe he’s got a bit of leftover mutton in the fridge? Don’t eat it all! I could use a snack.”

  “Newolves?” Jennifer asked as her grandfather’s dark shape disappeared quickly into the twilight. “I’ve heard that word before. What are they?”

  “I doubt you’ll see much of them,” Jonathan told her. “Normally they stay in Crescent Valley. But your grandfather thought it would be a wise precaution to keep a few near the farm, given some of the rumors we’re hearing. They’re excellent guards, and fiercely loyal to our kind.”

  “Loving father. I can’t help but notice that you haven’t answered my question at all.”

  “Yes, well . . . just don’t go out looking for them. They’ll smell you well before you see them, and they’re not easy to get to know.”

  Jennifer sighed as they landed on the northern porch. Joseph was waiting for them, and as luck had it, there was indeed leftover mutton, but not a lot of it.

  “So what are we going to do tomorrow?” she asked her father as they hurried to finish off the meat before Crawford got back.

  “Well, I don’t suppose you want me looking over your shoulder during your lessons. I’ll probably just stay out of your way during the day, and join you and your grandfather for breakfast and dinner.”

  “Do you think we could do a little ice fishing?” The lake had frozen over well before Christmas this year.

  “Sure.” He laughed. “You’ll see how nice it is not to have to drill through the ice. Though plunging your head into the icy water may get old after a few times. You may wish you were spending more time with your tutors instead!”

  When she didn’t smile at that, he leaned in close. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. Grandpa tells me you’re absolutely amazing, at everything you do.”

  “Not everything.” She pouted. “I still can’t summon a darned decent lizard.”

  “What, you’re still worried about that? Don’t fret, sport. You’ll be calling brontosaurs by Valentine’s Day.”

  “They’re called apatosaurs now, Dad.”

  “Dumbest name in the world. Makes ’em sound half as big, with bunny shoes. Some things just shouldn’t change.”

  Winter passed quickly by the lake, and friendships deepened. Catherine, Patrick, and Joseph all made a point of keeping meals with Jennifer, even when her grandfather or father didn’t join them for a story or history lesson. At first this made Jennifer feel awkward since she was younger than the other three, but as Catherine put it, “In dragon years, we’re all newborns.”

  She actually didn’t see much of her father after the first couple of weeks back—just an occasional drop-in here and there, though he was always careful to call if more than two or three days went by. He would often take over a camouflage lesson for her and Joseph, sending their surly tutor off to disappear smoothly in the forest somewhere. In this formal setting, Jennifer found his lectures more tolerable. In fact, he seemed to make a point of keeping his words short and sweet.

  As for her mother, beyond the briefest of stays on New Year’s Eve (to drop off Geddy’s tank and supplies), she barely came by. The cabin seemed to make the doctor uncomfortable, and Jennifer noticed that Crawford never asked his daughter-in-law to stay for long, even when there weren’t other dragons about. When Jennifer asked him about this, he was rather terse.

  “It’s a matter for your mother and me,” he told her. “Best leave it alone, Niffer.”

  So Jennifer spent most days during crescent moons playing sheep hunts with the other dragons, or creeping up on deer in camouflage, or zapping the pine cones off of pine trees with her tail as she whipped by. She kept up with her friends back home (mainly Susan and Skip) by phone, and did the occasional school project as time allowed. Her dragon friends followed a similar schedule, keeping up with their own studies as best they could while also helping Jennifer with her schoolwork so she wouldn’t fall behind.

  Joseph was the only one of the three she ever saw in human form. He was pale, of Norwegian lineage, with a blond crew cut and a quiet but easy smile. Because he was staying at Grandpa’s cabin he naturally spent the most time with her. At seventeen he was an apprentice electrician, so he was able to help Jennifer with science and mathematics. Patrick was a history buff, and so during his crescent moon visits to the cabin, he would check her history and writing work.

  Catherine was actually already taking a college-level course in sociology and anthropology. Jennifer wasn’t sure what this was, but she nodded politely when her friend pronounced it so seriously. She became a whole lot more interested when she found out what Catherine studied in her spare time.

  “Newolves?” It was an early spring evening. Pale buds were forming on the tips of the deciduous trees, but the crescent moon was still visible through their stark branches. “You’ve seen them? What are they?”

  The scales around Catherine’s lips curled in a mysterious smile. “Now, you have to promise not to tell anyone about this. Grandma told me not to go poking around the forest, but I couldn’t help myself. The past few weeks have been so fascinating! The potential advances in anthropological methodology alone are—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s great, what are they?”

  “They’re reverse werewolves,” the older dragon explained. “Usually, they’re just very intelligent, very large wolves. But every couple of days, they take human form. After I pestered Grandma for a bit, she told me they shift every fifty hours or so. But I want to do my own observations. So since early February, I’ve been slowly introducing myself to the dozen or so your grandfather has across the refuge.”

  “Wow, so you can talk to them now? Share meals with them? Play primitive games?”

  “Um, not really. But when I fly overhead, they don’t scatter anymore.”

&
nbsp; “That’s quite the doctoral thesis you’ve got going there.”

  “Hey, it’s progress. You wanna come along someday?”

  “Thanks, no. If I want to chase animals around, I’ll go after sheep. At least I can eat those.”

  Despite her skepticism, Jennifer found herself looking forward to Catherine’s ongoing daily reports on the herd: what the youngest newolf cub had eaten, who appeared to be the alpha male, how a new mating pair was getting along. It became an elaborate secret that the two of them shared.

  The spring mornings came earlier and grew warmer. During one late April sunset, when the latest crescent had almost finished waning in the sky and only one or two dragons were left at the farm, Jennifer decided to ask her friend if she could go along on a visit. Catherine’s red eyes immediately lit up.

  “Oh, yes, that would be great, Jennifer! The pack just settled into a new grove a bit west of where they had been before. I think it’s a territorial push. They’ve acclimated to my regular visits, and I think they’re ready for additional exposure to a monitoring agent. Just think of what we can learn about how they respond to observing our own unique social relationships!”

  “Um, yeah, I guess. I just wanna see ’em. We’d better hurry, though—my dad’s flying in later tonight before the crescent moon ends, and he’ll get suspicious if I’m not around.”

  It had been raining all day and the early evening skies were still overcast. The oaks, walnuts, and maples now gave good cover to anything on the ground, and Catherine couldn’t fly too well anyway, so it took some time for her to spot the right landmarks and lead them to where she was sure they would find the newolf pack.

  “Here!” she finally called out from the ground, as Jennifer nervously skimmed the branches above and felt a few lingering raindrops flick her scales. “Come on down and look!”

  Expecting to witness an exquisite gathering of primeval man-beasts, Jennifer cleared her throat, gently came down through the trees (being careful not to make any sudden moves), and gazed upon . . . a huge puddle of mud.