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“I can bully them if I want to.”
“No bullying.”
He hissed at me. I growled back.
My mother cleared her throat. “If you have to posture, do so once we’re in private. We’ve had enough public excitement for one week.”
Dad wisely obeyed. I smirked, claimed the victory as mine, and said, “Make sure there’s a garage worthy of my princess, Mom.”
“When did my Bentley become your princess?” Erik asked, and he placed his hands on his hips.
“I will love her better.”
“I’m the one who rescued her from a junkyard!”
“I will love her better!” I yelled.
“Are you seriously telling me that after all this fuss, the only thing these hatchlings are going to argue over is his car?” Shaking her head, my mother snagged us both by the back of our necks. “March, children. I’ll make sure there are sufficient parking spots in your house, just stop your complaining and crying already. I swear. One hatchling is enough to test my patience. Your father has how many of you?”
“More than is sensible,” I replied. “And Erik, don’t even bother acting like you know how many brothers and sisters you have. There are too many of them. His clutch had twelve, Mom. He’s the baby of the lot!”
“And he’s so much trouble that John and Mimi haven’t had another clutch, aware their youngest might give them more gray hairs. You’re responsible for entire clutches being skipped because you’re that much trouble.” My mother snickered and pushed us along. “Maybe we should go whip the whole lot of them into shape so Mimi can have another clutch. Surely she’s missed being overwhelmed by hatchlings.”
“You’re supposed to like her, babe. Wishing an entire new flock of hatchlings on her is not showing how much you like her,” my father said, following along with Garnet in his arms. “But perhaps we can encourage the current batch of fledglings to situate themselves a little more so John and Mimi can start thinking about a new clutch. Then Erik can escape being the baby and settle down with our hatchling.”
“We better check out the rest of the neighborhood to make certain it’s suitable for them. I mean, his house lost to a pair of dragons.”
“What house here hasn’t lost to a pair of dragons at some point?” my father asked in a curious tone.
“While you present a good point, we should at least check the neighborhood for its suitability.”
“If you say so.”
Well, if my parents didn’t scare Erik off, nothing would—I hoped.
TWENTY-SIX
“We’re arrogant and egotistical on a good day.”
Thursday, April 30, 2167
The Fringe
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
The chief of police serving the Fringe handled my interview personally, and he forewent any recording devices. With the drugs in my system rendering my statements inadmissible in court, he wanted to have a chance to talk to me, learn what he could, but keep me as protected as he could considering the circumstances.
“Your parents expressed some concerns about your draconic powers, as you have a thoroughly mixed heritage. Part of the reason I’m here is to help figure out what sort of magic you worked to escape and find a trainer for you if necessary. While your parents are quite powerful, they’re only powerful at their primary colors. Neither can do what you seem to be able to do.”
“Everyone is going to know they’re my parents, aren’t they?”
“Not necessarily. That’s part of why I’m not recording anything,” Chief Hawthorne replied, and he offered a smile. “We try not to agitate the little hatchlings, especially when they might be packing some surprises. Is it true you’ve already begun manifesting abilities?”
“I have an active purple talent,” I confessed. “I’ve had it since I was little. I bloomed early, but it never developed much beyond the opening volley.”
“Which class of purple talent?”
I stared at him. “Pardon?”