What's a Dragon? - Chapter 21
Noticed
In Part 2 (Ch. 6-17), Emilie found out what it means to be a true dragon, at least physically and magically. Keeping this a secret from her friends and society is something of a challenge, but she’s doing her best.
Okay, I was definitely spotted.
The newspaper this morning has an article describing both myself and my flight pattern from Saturday. The article itself seems… cautious, though? It’s not a panic, get-ready-to-fight article. More of an “If you saw something, here’s what it was.” There’s no mention of Shannon, either, so I guess they didn’t get a good look. But for that sort of tone, I get the feeling that somebody knows more than they wrote. I’d expect any article declaring a new Dragon to be a lot more fearful, especially given the reputation of the rest of the Dragons on the continent. The orange and purple ones collapse buildings, the white one tricks people into attacking friends, the red one slaughters entire towns and the blue one burns towns and cities to the ground. I don’t exactly live in a good location to inspire hope.
I consider hiding the pages of the article from my family, but they’re numbered so I don’t think that’d work. Plus Mom and Dad would probably hear about it somewhere else anyway. I’ll just… prepare myself for when Dad reads it.
I deliver the paper to the kitchen counter and prepare cereal for breakfast. If he asks me if I saw the Dragon, I suppose the answer is technically “no.” Huh; I wonder what I actually look like as a dragon? I have my heat sense’s view and I can see most of my body by moving my head around, but that doesn’t give an outside look for it. It’s not like I can use a mirror. I suppose I could look at some calm water, but landing next to the duck pond just outside the university while the sun is up sounds like a monumentally bad idea.
As for whether I plan to keep heading out, of course the answer is yes. Barring bad weather. Especially if people aren’t going to panic from seeing me fly around, I don’t see any reason to be worried in the short term.
In the long term, this article means that it’s only a matter of time before the other Dragons know about me. I don’t think our newspaper is published elsewhere, but I’m sure the news will travel.
After finishing my breakfast, I move to the den and relax on the couch, reading the Mymoir. I suppose anyone walking in would think I’m sleeping, but I’m still somewhat aware of my surroundings, so I’d be easy to “wake.” And while there’s plenty in the Mymoir that I’d rather not read, it’s got almost four thousand years of information (judging by comparing dates of things such as James’s first journal entry and the time of his death). There’s plenty here to read.
I take some time to read on the development of monsters until I hear a voice. “Emilie?” my dad prompts. He’s the only one in the room, and he’s holding something… the newspaper. I open my eyes.
“Have you looked at the paper this morning?” He knows the answer; it’s not like I left it in the sleeve. I usually skim the headlines before delivering it, and putting it back in the sleeve is more hassle than it’s worth.
“Yes,” I nod after sitting up, and wait for him to continue.
He takes a few seconds to compose his question. “If you saw a Dragon, would you tell me?”
I look away. Would I? If it was a not-me local Dragon, then yes. I don’t want people to be unaware of danger. But if it was someone like Akiko, then… probably not. That might put her in danger of any Dragon that hears rumors.
“Maybe?” I answer hesitantly.
Dad takes a deep breath. “Why not?”
I echo his breath but don’t let it out so fast, thinking. He doesn’t know I’m a Dragon for the same reason I wouldn’t say if I saw Akiko. And most people around here don’t think of Dragons as anything but bad news. But… Dad doesn’t study Dragons. He probably knows a little because I bet it’s necessary for an architect—and because I usually talk about them all the time—but I probably knew more than he did even before I could read the Mymoir. Maybe I can talk a little bit about what I know now.
Dad’s still waiting quietly. I take another breath before answering. “Not every Dragon is bad. And if the bad ones learn where the not-bad ones live, then they fight each other.” I’ve read books that say Dragons are territorial, but I think the real cause of the fights were when century dragons like myself didn’t uphold the image the rest of the Dragons have. If everyone is afraid of them, then any Dragons getting along with people would “ruin” their image.
Dad soaks up my words, nodding. “I see.” He opens the paper to the article on, well, me. “Would you say that not everyone read the memo?”
I can’t think of anything else to say. “Yes.”
“Well, then. If you do happen to meet this Dragon, keep your distance and stay safe. And if it’s a good Dragon, let it know that its location isn’t a secret anymore.”
I don’t think either really applies, but I reply with “Okay” anyway.
I don’t think Mom and Dad ever gave us a good explanation why, but we have a tradition of staying up until midnight on New Year’s Eve. As does… well, at least a lot of our close neighbors, if not the whole town. I can’t sense even close to Shannon’s house from here. Not while I’m small, anyway. I wonder if my large range would include all of Blacksburg?
It's not like I spy on my neighbors or anything. Heat doesn’t tell me enough that it’d be interesting anyway. I can just tell that they’re not lying down. … and I can sorta map out their homes because I can pick out the walls, but I’m pretty sure that there are only two or three layouts in the neighborhood. “Earth to Emilie.” Al snaps his fingers in my face. “Your turn.”
I blink and take my turn in the board game. I suppose getting new senses didn’t help my tendency to get lost in thought.
And that’s strange. Non-dry weather already looks odd by heat, but I think this is a new one. Rain has rapidly-moving streaks of cold, and fog makes everything even more blurry than usual. This is a blur of cold that’s significantly warmer near the ground. I stand up and walk to the window, and let out a moan of disappointment when I see what it is by the streetlights outside.
“What is it?” Al wonders aloud.
“It’s snowing,” I complain. The streets might be clear by Saturday, thankfully, but the path to the park won’t be. Not if it snows a lot. And I don’t think it’d be inconspicuous to melt the whole path there.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be helping you shovel.”
I do my best to hide my momentary confusion. Shovel? Wh—oh, right. “Dad said that I had to do it.”
Al nods. “And he told me to help you. I didn’t do the whole thing myself the first year.” And unlike me, Al actually exercises with his arms. Okay, yeah.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Thank me when we’re done.”
I suppose I’d best enjoy the time to relax now. And I guess that even if I can’t go flying, I can still have fun sledding tomorrow.
As I guessed, we got a lot of snow. The nature of heat means that things are blurry, but I think we got over a foot. Which is great for sledding, but…
Al’s already dressed to head outside when I arrive downstairs. “No breakfast first?” I ask.
Al shakes his head. “The sun’s up already. The less that melts before we’re done, the better.”
That… sounds off. “Wouldn’t that mean less to shovel?”
“Yeah, but wet snow is heavy.”
I’m not following. Whatever. If he’s so worried about snow melting, I’ll just melt my part with magic and shovel a little. I pick out a square near the garage three feet across and add some heat while putting on my gear. We’ll see how effective that is.
Al opens the garage while I grab the snow shovels and—how the—! I put a lot of heat into that snow! Why is it still snow!? Sure, there’s cold water flowing out, and sure, the square is about half as tall as the rest and a lot more gray than white, but I was expecting better results than that! I can freeze air!
Granted, I can’t freeze a lot of air without using a spell, because using a spell is a bunch more efficient and I’d run out of magic otherwise. But I’d probably run completely out if I tried to melt more snow than what’s on our driveway. Maybe the snow will melt off the road within the next three days?
Al sighs as he looks at the melting area. It’s noticeably in direct sunlight, although I didn’t do that on purpose. “I’ll get this section. You take the other side.” He takes a shovel from me.
I watch as he slides the shovel under the slushy snow. The shovel makes an awful scraping sound against the pavement, reinforcing my wish to have been a black dragon. Then he bends his knees, lifts the shovel so that the whole thing is horizontal, and launches the snow forward and to his left, off the driveway. Then he drops the shovel into place again and grunts. “Heavy.”
Al looks around and notices I’m not shoveling. “Oh, right.” He leaves his shovel where it is and walks back to me. “Here, I’ll get you started.” He holds out his hand, so I give him the other shovel. Then he moves to my section and shoves in the shovel horizontally, about halfway down the snow, and turns without the shovel to face me. “Do it in layers. If you need to break up any ice between the snow and pavement, call me.”
“Okay.” Well, I might not be able to melt all the snow, but a thin sheet of ice should be easy. I’ll do that after it’s exposed to the sun, though. And I guess now I know why our Dynamic neighbors don’t just melt the snow with fire wands.
I grab the shovel and start on the chore.