Fate of Dragons

  Fate of Dragons

  Bella Andrews

  FATE OF DRAGONS

  BELLA ANDREWS

  FATE OF DRAGONS © 2019 Bella Andrews

  Cover Art by Lily Droeven | Rowserein

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This book is dedicated to ...

  My dad who told me thousands of wild and wonderful stories that he made up about clever, empowered girls who could be anything they wanted. Thank you. It's your fault I'm full of stories and sass.

  My mom who brought myths and legends alive every night at bedtime, taught me to love poetry, and grounded me in the stories of the mountains. Thank you. I blame you for the word lust you passed to me.

  My sister, my best friend, my story partner, the one for whom I tell every tale. You wanted books that didn't exist yet. Well, here they are, all for you. Always.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  I didn’t remember much before the fire.

  Witchborn, different, other, I had the powers of my ancestors and their curse. People talked about being yourself, how important that was. Even Shakespeare said, “To thine own self be true.” But I wasn’t like everyone else. I didn’t have that luxury. I never got to be just me. It was cloaks and shadows and lies, pretending to be normal.

  Whatever that meant.

  If I’d been normal, I would have died. I was only six when I lost everything. It all burned down with me in it. I alone survived. They found me in the ruins, said I was lucky. I knew different. I was cursed.

  But I pretended beautifully, and in the mountains where my ancestors learned herb lore and practiced their wildwood magic, I hid in plain sight. Midwife, mountain woman, hippie. It was amazing how much people overlooked what was right in front of their eyes.

  Like me about to snip off bloodroot instead of pulling up the whole plant. My mind was just not on my work. Because I could have sworn I’d heard—

  Sienna.

  My hands stilled over the basket of herbs. There it was again, a faint whisper of my name which tugged at my memory somehow.

  I stood, looking into the forest around me.

  Twigs snapped.

  I drew my dagger in one hand, the other raised to defend with a spell if necessary.

  The wood could hide many things, things I’d rather I didn’t meet unprepared.

  “Sienna! Help!” The panicked yell had come from the trail.

  I turned toward the subsequent shouts of my name and saw Bre racing through the woods in her all-black outfit. I was surprised Goth was still a thing. I had a good seven years on the girl, and that trend had been dying when I was in high school. She spotted me and looked relieved.

  “What’s wrong?” I hid the dagger back in the sheath under my right side. My left palm still tingled, ready to unleash hell on whatever threat I had envisioned. I rubbed it on my skirt and stared at Bre.

  She was leaning over onto a black pine, catching her breath. “Dog. Poisoned. Dad says Mr. Sutton had to be the one who did it.”

  “I’m coming. Run ahead and get me a basin of water and some charcoal anywhere you can find it—nothing treated though, just charcoal. Pound it up and make him drink it. Pour it down his throat if you have to.” When she stood there, gasping for air, I shooed her away. “Run!”

  She nodded, not even questioning me, and ran back the way she’d come. I didn’t know how she moved so fast.

  Quickly, I searched the wood for herbs and earth magic I could use. A few plucks and snips, and I had to go. I tucked my basket under my arm and prepared to take a shortcut. Right off the ridge.

  The cliff was more than a fifty-foot drop to the river below, but the wild grapevine would get me across in no time. And a little magic couldn’t hurt.

  Flashbacks to when I was a kid, swinging from these vines with the few friends I had and pretending we were Tarzan, almost made me smile. Almost. I would have let out a little yell too if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

  Poor Leeroy. That dog got into more scrapes. First with Mrs. Bluitt’s azaleas, dug up like he was searching for gold. Then chasing Sutton’s cattle. It was just in his highland blood, poor pup. Born to it, born to be a herder. And you couldn’t escape blood. Blood will eventually bear out.

  A worry I knew too well.

  Unlike Leeroy, I knew better than to go about being myself. Except for now, hiking up my skirts and getting ready to magic myself across the river toward the valley. I tugged on the first vine I thought was long enough to swing me across. It held, but I infused a bit of hold into it just to be safe.

  The grapevine was harder to grip than I remembered, but I swung across on the first try. Like riding a bike, which, ironically, I never learned to do. The wind whipped through my hair, and if anyone had been watching at that moment, I’m sure they saw the quintessential witch—hair like raven’s wings flying out in long tangles, a little eye of newt in my basket, enough dirt on my face to look like a hag, no doubt.

  I landed sure-footed on the other side and let go of the vine which broke off immediately and spiraled to the river below. What might have happened to me without that bit of magic crossed my mind and flipped my stomach, but I was safe— ignoring that I’d half-assed the spell and could have gotten hurt or worse because I was panicked and racing along without thinking.

  I ran on, knowing time was my enemy and my basket held precious little. Bloodroot, mountain laurel, myrtle, pine needles. I’d just have to make it work. I whispered the spell I needed in my mind, hearing my own words echo in my head as I cleared the tree line and came within sight of the valley. I caught my breath and said the quick spell again, aloud this time, and raised my hands toward the Morton’s house where Leeroy was.

  “Draw this evil, draw this pain. What was broken make whole again—Leeroy.” I pulled a laurel leaf, poison itself, and willed that it draw like to like.

  When I stumbled into the house, Leeroy lay on the living room floor, froth around his muzzle, his eyes closed. Bre stood over him with a mason jar of blackened water. Pulverized charcoal briquettes scattered the dining table.

  Bre followed my gaze and answered my unspoken question. “Those are pure charcoal, nothing added.”

  Though not ideal, it would have to do.

  Bre’s dad, Paul, was visibly shaking. His salt and pepper beard trembled with his lip. “I’ll kill Sutton.”

  I liked Paul. He was a good man, loved his dog, never raised a hand to anyone. We understood each other, both of us just trying to do good in the world. I also understood the rage I saw now. Injustice could do that to
the most pacifist of men. If Sutton had been the one responsible, he’d made a powerful enemy. But I couldn’t believe that was true. Sutton was known for a lot of bad things, but I never thought he’d go this far.

  Paul’s wife Emmy raked a hand over Leeroy’s side and wiped away a tear. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Paul. You know how Leeroy gets into things.”

  I knelt down, quickly fanning my hands over the dog’s stomach. I palmed the laurel leaf and hoped that some of the poison would find its way there. “Did you give him the charcoal?”

  Bre nodded. “I put a bunch in his mouth and in the water I poured down him too.”

  “Good girl.”

  The leaf twitched. It was working. Now if I just knew the source of the poison.

  I tucked the leaf under Leeroy so they couldn’t see it and felt for his pulse. It was slow, declining. I had to act fast. “Everyone out. I need you all to go. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  They obeyed, tripping out of the house. Once the door was shut, I dug out the roots and herbs. The eye of newt, a daylily in layman’s terms, would help me steal the memory of the day from Leeroy. I needed to see what happened, what poison it was inside him.

  I pulled the three petals off, rubbed them in my hands, and blew across them to where the dog lay so still. Eyes closed, hands out, I waited.

  His memory was as muddled as my own. Squirrel, sniff things, run, run, run, love, love, love, eat, drink, again and again. I saw nothing different. Not even Sutton’s cattle. He’d only eaten from his own bowl, but he’d drunk from ponds and puddles all over the mountain. Any of those could have been tainted. I knew no more than before. I feared I was going to lose him. It was an unfortunate truth that you couldn’t save everyone.

  I would have to blindly have a last go. If Leeroy hadn’t purged by now, I had to force him. I dug the laurel out from under him. It was doing its work. I could sense the leaf’s veins taking on more and more toxins. Thank God. Now he just needed to release the rest.

  Instinctively, I grabbed the bloodroot and crushed it over his side. Bloodroot was only good in magical poisonings, but desperate times…

  Desperate times meant the true craft of intention was everything. No time for ritual, no time for pretty words, just workhorse magic, true grit. I ran the laurel from hind legs to mouth, putting all my energy into drawing the poison out. I held his head in my lap, soothing his soft ears and whispering to him to live.

  It worked. Green liquid oozed from Leeroy’s mouth. Then he roused up slightly and vomited. All over my best linen skirt.

  It was worth it.

  Leeroy lifted his paw in thanks and whined.

  “I know, boy. I’m happy to see you too.” I gave him a gentle hug and laid his head carefully back on the hook rug in the center of the Mortons’ living room. His sides heaved again, and I was thankful not to be in the way of his second wave.

  My herbs were almost spent. There was little of the laurel and bloodroot left. I stuffed them back in my basket and called to the Mortons to come back.

  “Leeroy!” Paul tore in, took one look at Leeroy, who thumped his tail at his master’s voice, and started crying. He hugged the collie to him, not even minding the mess, and kissed Leeroy’s ears. “Thank you, Sienna. Just, you know, thank you.”

  He jumped up swiftly and gripped me in the tightest hug I’d ever had. His tears wet my own cheek, and I wiped them away with a shaking hand.

  “You’re welcome. If it helps, I don’t think Sutton had a hand in it. I think our Leeroy there just got into something in the woods.”

  Paul swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll take your word then.”

  More tears fell onto his collar, and my chest tightened.

  Tears made me uncomfortable. Emotions in general made me uncomfortable. Especially my own, so I made my excuses and left. A wipe at my eyes and I was back to business as usual. I had a shut-in to help and an expectant momma to see to, but first, a shower. Though I thought I’d skip lunch. That split-pea soup just didn’t hold quite the same appeal as before.

  I was out of breath by the time I navigated around the ridge and reached my cabin—and I was weary, so weary. There were miles to go before I could sleep. Miles and a lot of work. The thought had me reaching for my dirty skirt and letting it fall to the ground before I made it to the front door. I would have to bring a bar of my homemade soap to the skirt instead of taking the mess inside.

  I pushed off my shoes by the heels and stepped away from the disaster that was my linen skirt before tossing my shirt into the pile too. I was just too tired to deal with them now. I cast a stasis spell to keep them for later and felt the ring at my chest grow cold. I looked down to where it had made a slight mark between my breasts. Paul had hugged me too tightly, and the imprint of the claddagh was outlined there in red.

  I ran my fingers over the imprint and suddenly chilled. I could feel eyes on me—unfriendly eyes. The tiny hairs at the back of my neck stood to painful attention. No one wandered onto my land without me knowing it, without breaking the barrier I’d set.

  Of all the times to be standing half-naked in the woods like a cliché.

  I rushed inside the cabin and pulled on a thin raincoat. Had someone broken through my spell?

  I listened, waiting.

  The tinkle of chimes made me jump. Someone had crossed the gate. The wind chimes that never moved in the stiffest breeze were set to alert me of trespassers. I peered out the window, and my shoulders relaxed. Bre Morton on her bike, which was laughably pink thanks to her mom’s unwavering hope that this dark look was a phase. I opened the door just as she came to a stop by the mess of clothes I’d stripped off.

  “Ms. Stevens?”

  “Hi, Bre. Is Leeroy okay?” I could have sworn he was fine. I felt my shoulders sag at the thought of walking back to the Mortons’ house.

  Bre lowered the kickstand on her bike and looked down at the ground. I’d never actually seen much toeing of the dirt like we joke about as a culture, but there she was, grinding the toe of her heavy army boots into a bald patch in my yard.

  “Thanks for saving Leeroy.”

  “You’re welcome. A lot of credit goes to you for what you did. Good job.” I pulled the raincoat tighter around me. My hair was still on end. I looked around, taking my eyes off Bre as she tried to talk about Leeroy. I missed half of it. Something about he was already eating hot dogs that Paul knew he shouldn’t feed him. People and their dogs. “I’m glad he’s doing great. He sure snapped back fast. Good genes those Border Collies.”

  I saw nothing in the woods, but I couldn’t shake that impending-doom feeling. I turned back to Bre who had gone silent.

  Her boots were grinding into the dirt again. “Ms. Stevens?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was more than that.” She stopped digging a hole and met my gaze. “It was magic.”

  If a stomach could literally drop, mine would have. As it was, it felt like it had gone leaden and sunk to my feet. Surely she meant something else. “Ha. Well, a good old mountain remedy can work like that.”

  Bre held my gaze. “Teach me.”

  “I have some herbal books you can—”

  “No. Not that. I saw you.”

  Now my heart was going down too, landing somewhere near my stomach. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

  “What are you talking about?” My voice sounded like a little girl’s. I stood straighter and spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Are you okay, Bre?”

  “Best I’ve ever been, thanks to you. I want you to teach me.”

  “Like I said, books are the best place to start.”

  She grabbed my hands between hers and smiled. “I know your secret.”

  My heart and my stomach were vying for that rock-bottom position.

  “I know you’re a witch.” She smiled. “Like me.”

  2

  I’d been called a witch before, but not like this. Not with the real meaning behind those words.

  Bre kep
t moving forward, still holding my hands as I inched closer to the open door of my cabin. I was keenly aware I was only wearing a raincoat over my underwear. I felt exposed in so many ways. It was hard to feel powerful when you were off guard and without clothes. It was even harder to hold your ground. I could feel any denial I might make slipping away with each step we took in this weird ballet.

  “Teach me. I’ll keep your secret, I swear. I know some magic too. I just need someone to teach me. You know what it’s like around here.” She let go of my hands and paced in front of me as if she were talking to herself. “There’s no one, I mean no one to talk to. No one gets me. But you, you’re like me. I get you. You get me. You know?”

  I had not found my words, which was unusual for me. But Bre was speaking enough for both of us.

  She waved a hand in front of me. “I know you can’t tell anyone. I get it. But I know. I saw you do it. I know you’re a witch. You can talk to me. I can talk to you now. Oh my god, just say yes. Help me, Ms. Stevens. I’m going to go crazy and die here in this hovel of a town if you don’t.”

  Hovel? “Bre—”

  “No, say you’ll help me. You have to.”

  Tears. Again with the tears. What the hell do you do with a weeping teenage girl? It was actually harder than a crying man.

  “Bre, I know you’re feeling… different.” The Goth getup said as much. “But if you are messing with witchcraft, I strongly advise you to stop.”

  “Stop?” She looked at me like I had lost my mind.

  Anything I might have said was paused by the sudden heat that engulfed me. I closed my eyes. I wanted to draw the heat inside me, the pyromancy in my blood practically dancing in flames.