EXCERPT THREE: “Meghan’s Dragons”
by: T. Wallace-Pregent
Meghan sank down to her knees trying desperately to catch her breath. She could see the beast’s eyes glowing in the shadows, its breath the only warmth in the drafty old house. It had been there the entire time that Mam had been in the room, waiting for its chance to get her alone. All the time Mam was talking about cousin Sarah’s having twins and getting her brother Charles to chop the kindling for the fire and poor baby Bessie’s croup, it stood staring at her out of the flames of the fireplace.
“For heaven’s sake, Meghan, what’re you staring at?” Mam asked while Meghan was concentrating on keeping her breathing slow and even.
“Nothing, Mam,” said Meghan barely above a whisper. “Is Gran coming back soon?” She had learned early that it was useless to tell Mam anything about the dragons. Mam loved her to distraction, but she would think Meghan was crazy for sure. So she made sure that no one knew about her visions – except for Gran, of course. Gran was different. Like Meghan.
Now Mam was gone and the room was still and silent except for the slight hissing of dragon’s breath. Anyone else might have mistaken it for the crackling of the fire in the grate, but Meghan’s ears were very practised. She knew the signs to look for. She knew, too, that she was safe as long as she could keep her heart from racing and her breathing steady. The slightest sign of fear or weakness and the beast would pounce, ripping her mortal body to shreds.
“I know why you’re here,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I know what you want, but I don’t have it. I’m not the one you’re looking for. You can go back and tell all your friends that Meghan Ridley is not the Dragon’s Bane.” She kept her eyes low, knowing that it would like to steal her strength. The long lizard’s body slunk around her and the hissing increased.
“You are a terrible liar, Meghan Ridley…” hissed the dragon. He was a Ridge-back, not as large as some of the others but perhaps more deadly. His flint-like scales scraped her arm. Still she would not look up. He snorted.
“The time of the Scythe is nearing. You’d be wise to reconsider our offer.”
Meghan’s throat tightened at the mention of the Scythe. Would the beast leave her a cruel reminder of its importance, as the last dragon to visit her did? The burns on her arms had only just healed.
Suddenly the door burst open and a tall grey-haired lady stood in the doorway brandishing a twisted brass-handled cane. The ring on her finger flashed as deep red as the firelight. At the same time rain rattled angrily against the window pane and the lights went out. Only the fire remained casting long strange shadows about the room. Meghan breathed deeply with relief.
“Gran!” she cried, jumping up from her place on the hearth. She cast her arms gratefully around her grandmother.
“Sorry I’m late, darling.” Grandmother Lacy was a soft-spoken lady, but her eyes said more than her words. She was angry. Walking over to the fireplace she tapped the stones on the hearth with her cane, saying the words of blessing under her breath.
