Icefire (6 page)

9
Z
ANNA IN THE
G
ARDEN

 

W
hite?” Liz repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“White?” said Henry Bacon, wiping his nose and leaving an oil stain on his mustache.

“White?”
spluttered David.

“With pink eyes,” Lucy added, looking at all three adults in turn.

“That means … well, I’ll be darned,” said Liz.

“Think you mean ‘albino,’ strictly, Mrs. P.”

“Where?” rasped David. “Where did you find it?”

“In the brambles,” said Lucy. “Where you said. Mom, can we please get the rabbit hutch out of the attic and make a real den for Spikey?”

“Not now, we’ll be late for the fair,” she said,
aiming Lucy toward the car. “Say good-bye to Mr. Bacon and David.”

“Look after Spikey,” Lucy shouted to David.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, totally confused. How could Lucy have missed the hairbrush and found a real hedgehog instead? Sighing, he waved the car good-bye. It chugged unconvincingly up the crescent, giving another little cough along the way. “Are you sure that car’s all right, Henry?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Mr. Bacon sniffed. “Mind you, if you want a decent vehicle, that’s the thing to be in, boy.” He pointed down the driveway. A sleek black car had just pulled up.

David grunted in agreement. “Bet it costs a bit to look after, though — wow!” Suddenly his mouth was wide enough to take an apple whole. The driver of the car had just stepped out. It was none other than Zanna.

“Good Lord!” Mr. Bacon exclaimed as Zanna came clip-clopping down the path. She looked like a tall dark mermaid, with her lower half enclosed in a tight-fitting
skirt that flared at the ankles like a large tail fin. To David’s relief she hadn’t ghosted her face, and looked quite stunning in a shocking sort of way, with her eyes shadowed purple and a plum red rinse washed into her hair. But with a silver-studded dog collar around her neck and at least two rings for every finger, she stood out like a runaway scarecrow in the sleepy leafiness of Wayward Crescent. Fearing Mr. Bacon would either faint or, worse, go after her with a stick, David moved forward to explain that Zanna was merely a friend from college, who’d come to drop off a book en route to a fancy dress party, when, to his astonishment, she veered toward the Pennykettles’ neighbor and said, “Hi, Mr. Bacon. Gosh, didn’t know you lived around here.”

Mr. Bacon flicked a crusty glance at David. “Have you come to see
him,
Suzanna?”

“Sure have,” she smiled. And before David could stop her, she’d leaned over and plopped a kiss on his cheek. “Hi, David.”

“Hi,” he said, blushing. “How do you two know each other?”

Zanna swished around, tassels flying. “The library, of course. Mr. Bacon is the best librarian in the world. He finds loads of interesting books for me, don’t you?”

“Why are you wasting your time on him?” said Henry.

Zanna smiled and said, “I’m educating him — in the ways of dragons.” She plopped a book into David’s hands, a large hardcover with a cover picture of a sleeping dragon.

“Thanks,” he said. “Do you, erm, want to come in?”

“Tsk, first mistake,” she said, slipping past him, “inviting a vampire over your threshold.” She giggled, showing a set of perfect white teeth, said good-bye to Henry, then stepped into the house.

“OK,” said David, banging the door shut as he followed her in. “Liz, my landlady, isn’t at home. So promise me you won’t do anything —”

“Shush,” she interrupted, flapping a hand. She
stooped sideways and peered wide-mouthed up the stairs, then rolled her eyes to every corner of the hall. “Wow, this house is really buzzing.”

“Yeah, it’s the fridge. The thermostat’s wacky.”

Zanna turned a circle. “Rain, don’t be dumb. This place is singing. Can’t you feel the energy? These walls must have a fantastic aura.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Cup of tea? This way.” He hurried her toward the kitchen.

“Honestly, you really can’t feel it?”

“No. Sit down — and don’t scare Bonnington.”

“Oh, you’ve got a cat!” With a squeal of excitement, Zanna scuttled across the kitchen to where a dazed-looking Bonnington was hanging over his food bowl. Zanna crouched down and tickled his ears. “Hello, Bonnington. I’m David’s friend, Zanna. He thinks I’m very strange because I dress in dark clothes and talk about things he doesn’t understand. But we don’t care about
him,
do we? You’re lovely, aren’t you? Would you like to be my friend?”

“Leave him alone,” David scolded. “He’s very sensitive. Don’t lead him astray.”

Zanna stood up and flicked back her hair. “I hope you’re not going to be horrible all day. I did bring you a book, after all.”

David flipped through it, then put it on the table. “Looks good. I’ll check it out later. Thanks. Is that really your car out front?”

Zanna nodded and looked around the kitchen. “Rich dental daddy. Spoils me rotten. Is this one of your landlady’s dragons?” She touched a finger to the dragon on top of the fridge.

“Yes,” said David. “One of many.”

“It’s cute. Why are its ears so frail?”

“It’s a listening dragon. And before you ask, I don’t know what that means. It’s probably spying on us. If its eyes turn purple, run for it — quick.”

“Purple’s my favorite color,” said Zanna, closing her eyes so that David could see her painted lids. “Is that how the dragons come alive, then — like
this?” She spread her fingers and flashed her eyes open.

David gave her a withering look.

“Just a joke. Chill out. Is this Lucy?” She pointed to the photograph of Liz with the snowball.

“No, it’s Liz — when she was a kid. She keeps that snowball in the freezer.”

“Really? Can I see it?”

“No. Behave.”

“Spoilsport. Where was it taken — the photo, I mean? Doesn’t look like here, with all those firs in the background.”

“I don’t know,” said David. “I’ve never asked. Look, I’m going out into the garden for a minute. Stay here and bother Bonnington. I won’t be long.”

“I like gardens,” chirped Zanna, following him.

“Zanna, I’m only going to look at a hedgehog.”

“I like hedgehogs,” she added. “Come on, Bonnington.” And she was out of the door before David could stop her, with Bonnington trotting along at her ankles.

As they approached the chunk of ice, Bonnington gave it a good wide berth.

“There was a snowman there,” David explained. “It spooked him a bit. He hasn’t got over it.”

Zanna slowed to a halt. She looked at Bonnington, then at the ice. “No, he senses something. Animals are far more perceptive than humans. They can touch other planes of existence. You know the first thing I thought of when I looked at that?”

“Ice?” said David, facetiously.

“The Arctic ice cap, to be exact.”

David groaned and rolled his eyes. “Hang on, I’ll get a lollipop stick and we can mark the north pole.”

“I mean it, Rain. I get impressions. Things come to me. I’m never wrong. Think about it. What’s it doing here when all the rest of the snow has gone?”

David stared at the ice with his hands in his pockets. “Melting — very slowly?”

Zanna shook her head. “It’s Lorel,” she muttered. “It’s definitely a sign.”

A-row,
went Bonnington, padding away.

“See, he knows.”

“No, he
doesn’t.
All he cares about are
Chunky Chunks
and
Truffgood
treats.” David shook his head at her and headed up the garden. He’d had all the weirdness he could take right now. Zanna, Lorel, Bonnington, white hedgehogs. He snatched the brambles aside. No Spikey, and no catty treasure trove either. Frowning suspiciously, he turned to the cat. “Where’s your loot?”

Bonnington looked at the empty space as if it were a total mystery to him.

“Don’t give me that. You’ve
moved
it all, haven’t you?”

Brr-up,
went Bonnington and sat down to give his paws a wash.

“What’s happening?” asked Zanna, catching up.

“That cat is a thief and a smuggler,” said David. He explained about the hairbrush and how Bonnington and Lucy (and Spikey, it seemed) had all turned the tables on him.

“Serves you right,” Zanna said, laughing. “Cats are far smarter than you think. White hedgehog? That’s interesting. According to ancient folklore, white hedgehogs were a symbol of —”

“Don’t,” said David, holding up his hands. “I don’t want any more mystical babble.”

For the first time, Zanna appeared quite hurt. “I don’t understand you,” she said. “You tell me stuff about Inuit talismans and how the name Lorel pops up out of nowhere, and when I come to your garden it’s obvious that something strange is going on, so obvious that even your cat knows about it, and all you do is try to deny it. I know you want to make sense of it, Rain, but you won’t let me help you because of all this.” She flicked her hands down the front of her skirt, folded her arms, and brushed her way past him. “I’m sorry I came. You can keep the dragon book until you hand in your essay. See you at college. Bye.”

She was halfway to the house before David turned and came running after her. “Zanna, stop. I didn’t
mean to be rude. I’m sorry. I’m just … confused, I s’pose. I keep having dreams about him.”

Zanna paused and dropped her shoulders. “Lorel?”

“Mmm. I think so. A bear, anyway. He keeps trying to speak, but when he opens his mouth something always wakes me.”

Zanna turned slowly. As she did, she caught sight of the dragons in the window of the den. “That’s because you’re scared of what you might hear.”

“Pardon?”

“Your logical mind is shutting off your subconscious because you won’t allow yourself to believe what’s happening. It’s like Tinker Bell in
Peter Pan.
Tink dies unless you convince yourself that fairies truly exist.”

“Fairies?” David gave his nose a skeptical twist. “Forget it,” said Zanna, and turned away again. “OK,” he said quickly, hauling her back. “Let’s say I believe it. Why would a polar bear want to talk to me?” Zanna glanced back at the ice. “Don’t know, but it
won’t be through chance. Lorel is a legendary guardian of the Arctic. If he’s here, that means he’s come to help you. Or protect you, perhaps. Or he wants something from you. You’ve been singled out.”

“Oh, great,” said David as the hairs on his neck began to tingle. “Singled out? By a dream bear? For what?”

“Don’t know,” said Zanna, with a shrug. “But I’d bet my last bangle it’s tied up with them.” She nodded at the window of the Dragons’ Den.

David drew a shallow breath. That was one thing he
could
agree upon. In this house, everything centered around the dragons. “Liz knows the name Lorel,” he said. “It means something to her, but she won’t say what. Tell you something else, she wants to meet Bergstrom. That’s pretty weird, don’t you think?”

Zanna parted her lips with a gentle smack. She stretched back her neck and let her hair shower down to the level of her waist. For once, David saw her as a girl, not a Goth. In profile, she was really quite beautiful, he thought.

“Think I’ll have that cup of tea now,” she said, boldly looping her arm through his. “And break out the cookies; we need to talk.”

“About Lorel?”

“Lorel, the dragons, your landlady, everything. It’s time to unlock a few secrets, David.” “Secrets?”

“Of forty-two Wayward Crescent …”

10
D
AVID
M
AKES A
W
ISH

 

T
his is Gadzooks,” David said, putting the dragon on the kitchen table.

Zanna rested two fingers on his wide flat feet and turned him carefully left and right. “He’s sweet. Does he like cookies?” She waved one hopefully in front of his snout. Gadzooks, as always, remained perfectly composed and flawlessly polite. Zanna gave up and ate the cookie herself. “So, what’s he do? Write your shopping list or something?”

David pulled out a chair and sat. “Not far off. He’s kind of … inspirational. I wrote this story for Lucy once and —”

“Story?” A crumb or two of oatmeal landed on the table as Zanna’s mouth struggled to contain her
surprise. “Rain, I’m impressed. You’re loaded with talent. What was it about?”

“An injured squirrel we found in the garden.”

“Wow. How glam. I’m friends with a writer. Are you going to have it published?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve got to go and talk to an editor woman. Which reminds me, I need to call her, actually.”

“Cool, do it now.”

“Later. I’m telling you about Gadzooks. When I was doing the squirrel story, I’d get stuck sometimes and he’d sort of … help me. If I picture him in my mind I sometimes see him write things on his pad. It was him who wrote ‘Lorel’ when I was talking to Bergstrom.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. He got very excited.”

“Bergstrom?”

“No! Zookie, you idiot. I thought you were smart? When Gadzooks showed me the name, he stomped and blew smoke rings. He doesn’t normally do that.”

Zanna munched on her cookie and frowned in thought. “Did you tell Bergstrom this?”

“Are you kidding? He’d think I was nuts. Listen, can I ask you something?”

“I’m all ears,” she said (though mostly they were occupied by silver skulls and rings).

David traced the grain of the table for a moment. “When you came in, you said the house had an aura.”

“Hmm. It’s like a thumping heart.”

“Liz used a word called ‘auma’ once. Is that different? She said it meant ‘fire.’ ”

Nodding gently, Zanna replied, “The auma is supposed to be an animating force, just like dragons are the animating spirit of the natural world. All things bright and beautiful and creative: That’s the auma at work. As for dragons, all that stuff about them capturing maidens is a pile of nonsense. That’s a picture people have painted because they’re scared of things they don’t understand. The dragons’ true role was much more dignified. They were the defenders of the earth and the servants of Gaia.”

“Of who?”

“Gaia — the earth goddess. You’ve never heard of the Gaia principle?” She took another cookie and dunked it in her tea. “Tsk, Rain, you’re such a dunce. The Gaia principle posits the idea that the earth is a living organism.”

“It breathes …” David muttered, remembering now what Lucy had said about the dragon fire at the center of the earth.

“Yes. It regulates its environment and weather patterns according to its changing needs. No matter what nastiness we get up to, zap ourselves to dust with nuclear weapons, poison the oceans with toxic pollutants, Gaia — the earth — will always adjust and survive, in time. This is not to say that we, the nauseating dots of life that corrupt every corner of this beautiful planet, can afford to be totally irresponsible and do what we like. Far from it. Our role is to live in harmony with Gaia. The more we nurture the planet, the better and more natural a life we’ll have. Hey, I’m good at this soapbox stuff, aren’t I?”

“Wonderful,” said David, with his tongue in his cheek. “So where does he fit in?” He nodded at Gadzooks.

“Well, the more auma something has, the more animated or lively or creative it is, and therefore the closer to Gaia it becomes. When you picture Gadzooks in your mind, you’re basically admitting you believe in him. That raises his auma — to a pretty high level by the sound of things. I reckon Bergstrom was thinking about Lorel when you took that talisman, and Gadzooks picked up on it. When you’re in that enlightened state, you can access other planes of being. A bit like Bonnington being aware of Lorel in the garden.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why Lorel’s come. How am I supposed to find that out?”

“Keep dreaming. Let him talk or show you things. Just be open to it, that’s all.”

David sat back, frowning heavily. He thought about the dream he’d had — of the island that looked like a jagged tooth. Was Lorel trying to show him something
then? Where did that fit in with dragons? He rocked forward and stroked Gadzooks. “This auma thing. Is it possible for someone else to raise it, to make it seem like …?” He tipped his head toward the dragon and flapped his fingers to indicate flight.

“He flies?” Zanna whispered, letting her mouth drop open.

David stood up, with a finger to his lips. He took the listening dragon off the top of the fridge, opened the bread box, and shut it inside. “Precaution,” he said, and took his seat again. “Liz told me this story once about a dragon called Gawain, the last dragon in the world. Liz has a funny way of telling stories. She sings you a sort of growly lullaby that makes you dream you’re living the plot. And that means you see things you wouldn’t … normally see.”

“Cool,” went Zanna. “Sing me the lullaby.”

“I can’t. She kind of warbles it from the back of her throat.”

“Dragonsong, yes. I’ve read about it somewhere. Wow, this is great. Tell me the story.”

So David repeated what he’d told to Dr. Bergstrom, and Zanna, like Bergstrom, was intrigued by two things: Gwilanna, and what had become of Gawain’s fire tear.

“Don’t know about Gwilanna,” David said, “but Liz told me the fire tear is hidden somewhere. I reckon it’s —”

“In the Arctic,” Zanna guessed, shortening her gaze. “That’s the connection to Lorel. It must be.”

“Fine. I get that. But what does he want?”

“Don’t know,” she muttered, thinking hard. “Show me this den, the place where Liz works. There’s gotta be a clue there, somewhere.”

“I’m not sure,” said David, leaning back. “There are dragons up there that are very special to Liz and Lucy.”

Zanna tilted her head. A sparkle danced in her large dark eyes.

David squirmed and knew he was powerless to resist. “All right,” he caved in, “but just a quick peek.”

As he led the way upstairs, every creak sounded like a cannon shot. He felt sure that Gruffen would appear at any moment, life-size, wings spread, forks of fire pouring out of his throat. But the door of the Dragons’ Den was ajar, and no guard dragon barred the way to it. David took a deep breath and pushed it open. “In you go; lady Goths first.”

Zanna walked in, gasping with a mixture of joy and astonishment much as David had done when he’d first seen the room. Shelf upon shelf of green-eyed dragons, all frozen in their various scaly poses. To David’s relief, Gruffen wasn’t on his usual perch. G’reth stood there instead, glazed and beautiful in his newness and looking terribly eager to be of assistance.

Zanna homed in on him straight away. “Oh, you gorgeous, gorgeous creature.”

“He’s mine, actually,” David said, with a modest streak of affiliated vanity. “I named him G’reth.”

“He’s fabulous,” said Zanna. “Very photogenic.”

“He’s a wishing dragon. You put your thumbs in his paws and make a wish.”

Zanna immediately had a try. “I wish some tall, mop-haired geography student would shower me with roses and whisk me into his open arms.”

A second went by. Zanna removed her thumbs. She smiled bashfully at David, whose face was like stone. “Hasn’t worked, has it?”

“Only the maker — that’s Lucy, who’s already had a go — and the owner are allowed a wish. And it has to be something beneficial.”

“Oh,” said Zanna, suitably chastened. “What did Lucy wish for, then?”

“Snow, as it happens.”

“It worked?” Zanna’s pupils blossomed like flowers.

“Zan-na?”

“You try.”

David screwed up his face. “I’m not playing wishing games.”

“It’s not a game, dummy. You’re raising his auma.
Believe.
Wish for something — about Gawain.”

“Such as?”

“Such as finding out where his
fire tear
is hidden?”

David stepped back, shaking his head. “No. That’s not a good idea.”
Not here,
he thought,
with all these dragons looking on.

Zanna grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him forward. “The fact that you’re afraid of this only confirms you think it could happen. Do you want to know the truth or not?”

David sighed and looked away.
This is ridiculous,
he told himself. It won’t work. It can’t work. A wishing dragon? It was the stuff of fairy tales. But knowing he’d get no peace until he tried, he touched his thumbs to G’reth’s smooth paws.

“Careful,” whispered Zanna, “you’re making him wobble.”

David steadied his hands and tried again. “I wish,” he whispered, “that I knew the secret of Gawain’s fire tear.”

He drew away, into the silence. Not a
hrrr
could be heard. Not a scale was rattled. He peered about the room. Not a purple eye in sight.
Phew.

“Oh, well,” shrugged Zanna. “It was worth a try.”

“Um,” David grunted, and closed his eyes briefly, trying to picture Gadzooks. And that was when he knew that all was not well. The dragon had lowered his pencil and pad and was rolling his eyes in search of something, as if some force was about to descend. Something was coming.

Something bad.

“Zanna —” David turned to tell her, but she had moved across the room to another long shelf.

“These are sweet,” she said, bending forward to examine a row of baby dragons, all breaking out of their eggs.

“Best-sellers, for expectant moms. Listen, I —”

“Here’s one that hasn’t hatched.” Zanna picked up a fully formed egg, nestling in a stand of intertwining sticks. It was bronze in color and had a slightly pitted surface.

“Zanna, put it down. Liz’ll go nuts if you break anything.”

“I won’t drop it,” she said, cupping the egg very close to her breast. “It’s very relaxing, holding this. It makes me feel … I don’t know. Warm.”

“Well, cool off quick and put it back. We should leave. I’ve got a feeling that something’s not right.”

But Zanna held tighter than ever to the egg, caressing it and speaking softly to it as she moved toward the window and Liz’s workbench. “Who’s this?” she asked, coming face-to-face with an elegant dragon at the back of the bench.

“Definitely, one hundred percent, do
not
touch that. That’s Guinevere, Liz’s special dragon. If you knock that over, we’re cinders, I’m telling you.”

Zanna tilted her head. “She wants it,” she whispered.

“Eh?” said David. “What are you talking about?”

“Can’t have it,” said Zanna, almost spitting like a cat. “My baby.
My
egg. It’s Zanna’s b —”

“Zanna, what’s the matter?” David grabbed her arm.

“No!” she squealed, trying to fight him off. In the struggle, the egg fell out of her arms. It dropped onto the workbench, spinning. Whole.

“Zanna!” David shook her till her eyes began to clear.

“What — what happened?” she whispered, flattening herself against his chest.

“I don’t know. You went weird. You were talking about babies. You wanted that bronze-colored egg.”

“Egg …” She blinked and reached to touch it.

“No,” said David, knocking against the bench as he pulled her away. The egg jostled and twitched like a compass needle, then rolled to a rest at Guinevere’s feet. At the moment of contact, David thought he saw the surface of the egg begin to ripple. But as he squinted and focused, the clunk of a car door sounded nearby and he jerked his head sharply to the front of the house. “What was that?”

Zanna touched his hand and gulped.

“Oh no,” said David, turning white. “They shouldn’t be home for ages yet.” He yanked Zanna’s arm and dragged her to the landing. “Quick. Downstairs. Let me do the talking. You’ve been here two minutes, dropping off a book. Got it?”

“Yes. No! What about the tea mugs?” “All right … ten minutes. Make yourself presentable.”

“David!”

“Zanna, don’t argue. Come
on-nn.”
They clattered downstairs and bumped to a halt beside the front door. David pulled her to his opposite side. “You never went upstairs. And I’m just showing you out, OK?”

“Such charm,” she muttered, parting her hair.

“Ready?” David was panting now. He bit his lip as a figure appeared behind the wafers of stippled glass in the door. He said a quick prayer and whooshed it open. “Liz!” he exclaimed in a cheery voice.

But it wasn’t Liz. It was a stern-looking woman with pinned white hair and black lace-up shoes, dressed in a smart-fitting slate gray suit. By her side was a suitcase. Perched on top of the suitcase was a dragon. A Pennykettle dragon. It had a sort of quiver over its shoulder and a small bouquet of flowers between its paws.

David looked at the woman. The woman looked at
him. Then she looked at Zanna. Then at him once more. When she smiled, it seemed to David that a whirling vortex flickered in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice carried with it all the chilling austerity of a Victorian governess.

“Well, well,” she said. “What have we here? Good afternoon, children. Trick or treat …?”