Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light (11 page)

“Grandpa, you’ve got to call my parents!” She said this as she stormed through the cabin patio doors, reverting to seething girl shape.

From the kitchen, he poked his head back and smiled. “Hey, Niffer! I’m making up some meatloaf. Lucky for you I’ve got extra, Joseph’s lending a hand at the Green farm down the road again—”

“Grandpa, you have to call them!”

He finally paid attention. “Why? They driving you nuts?”

“No. Well, yes, but—Grandpa, I know about Pinegrove. I know our house is in a town full of beaststalkers, and now that everybody knows we’re weredragons, they still won’t leave!”

Crawford sighed sadly. “They sent you up here?”

“Yes. Dad said he has work to do, of all things! And I know Mom won’t leave him. You have to call him and tell him to get up here!”

To her surprise, he actually chuckled. “Niffer, when your parents tell you what to do, do you always listen?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Your father hasn’t followed my advice since he fell in love with your mother.” This came out wistfully. “He was right back then, I learned over time, and the two of them might be right now. You may know about Pinegrove, but I doubt you know everything.”

Jennifer stomped her foot. “I really wish people wouldn’t keep stuff from me. I’m fifteen years old; I can handle a little family history! Anyway, what could be so important that my parents would stay in that house? It’s just a house!”

She caught a flash in his gray eyes. “Not every house is just a house, Jennifer. Especially when you lose one. You should have learned that at Eveningstar.”

It took some time to ponder that, but then…

“Our house in Winoka used to be yours?”

He nodded. “The property did. My mother’s farm used to be where that neighborhood stands. She raised me alone, after my father died in a duel with a particularly powerful werachnid named Motega. She found her revenge on him, but a few years afterward, the beaststalkers came to Pinegrove. There were more of us back then than there are now, but an army of beaststalkers is formidable.”

It was a while before he spoke again. Jennifer stared at the white fringe of hair that surrounded the back of his frail head. She knew enough not to press him for details. He opened the oven door, took out a small pan of meatloaf, and began slicing it.

“We hid, of course,” he finally continued. “In a secret compartment under the basement. She had dug it long before then, thinking she may need it on occasion. But with the entire town occupied and beaststalkers living literally above our heads, we were trapped. The beaststalker family that moved into that farm never even knew we were there, for several weeks.

“We thought we would just slip upstairs and out of the house some time when they weren’t in, but as it turned out, it was a family with children, and the mother stayed home with them all the time. Not only that, many beaststalkers spent time renovating houses and obliterating all traces of their previous owners. Even when she took the children away during the day, they had workers knocking down walls, remodeling, and so on. The best we could do was slip up into the basement and get water from the utility sink. That alone nearly got us caught.

“Having no other option, my mother dug deeper under the basement, making a tunnel that she hoped we could use to escape without alerting anyone. But it was hard work, through bedrock, and we had to do it quietly. I tried to help, but I was little then and couldn’t do much.”

Crawford had all the meatloaf on a serving platter now. Motioning for Jennifer to get her own dishes, he brought the platter over to the dining table.

“On the verge of starvation, and her claws crusted in her own blood, Mother finally decided her own cause was hopeless. But she didn’t give up on me. She made me memorize a fake name that matched up with some friends in another town, and a story I could give authorities about getting lost looking for rabbits. Then she went upstairs one night and distracted them.

“While the family and some neighbors hunted her across her own farm, I slipped out of the house and went the other way. I didn’t want to, of course, but I had no choice. I cried the whole time I was running away from her.”

Jennifer quietly watched him as he lifted some meatloaf from the platter and moved it onto her plate.

“Somehow, I managed to find the highway and walk to the next town, full of regular folk and not a beaststalker or weredragon in sight. They accepted my story without suspicion and sent me to my mother’s friends, who knew enough to raise me until I was old enough to change. Some years later, I used my savings to buy this farm and build this cabin. As you know, it’s here for weredragons now as a refuge, a place where they can come, no matter what. Dragons like Joseph Skinner.

“The family that lived in that house sold off most of the farm to developers, and new houses and neighborhoods sprung up around them. Happens all the time, nowadays. The residents of the original farmhouse grew old, and their children had children. Among them was a little girl, Elizabeth Georges. In time, the house and what was left of the farm passed to her.”

She stopped with a forkful of meatloaf halfway to her mouth. Her grandfather studied her with a somber gaze.

“I think you misunderstand which of your parents is the more stubborn, Niffer. I have no doubt that my son would rather see his whole family safely up here at this cabin. But your mother made a promise to me on her wedding day, after she learned who I was and made the connection to her own house. She had the beaststalker house razed to the foundation, and swore to me on her own life that she would rebuild a house there where weredragons could live again, for good.

“I was horrible to her in those days and I didn’t believe her, but bless her heart, she kept her word. After Eveningstar, as you know, your parents built that new house there, and it will pass on to you in time. So you see, Niffer, I’m guessing there’s no way a phone call is going to get her out of that house—or her husband, for that matter.”

Jennifer dropped her fork. “They know they’ll die! Grandpa, we can’t let that happen! We have to go back!”

“And do what? Jennifer, there’s no way your parents would want you in that house right now. Your tendency to act like a teenager worked against you. Running away in a fit is exactly what they wanted you to do. I’m sure of it. And I’m just as sure that they’d tear my head off if I let you go back. You’re staying here, young lady—Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

She turned as she reached the patio doors. “Well, right now, I’m trying to imagine how you’ll stop me.”

His face clouded in panic. “Jennifer, wait! Okay, you’re right. I can’t stop you. And I imagine I can’t convince you to stay—after all, we all know what happens when you decide to rush off and save family.”

Despite her worry, she gave a wry grin.

“If I can’t convince you to stay,” he proposed, “can I at least convince you to go back together with me?”

Her heart lifted at the thought of him helping her. “You promise to break the speed limit?”

“Every sign I see. Just let me go upstairs and get my keys and wallet. And my gun, come to think of it. You pack up this meatloaf with some bread and bring it out to the truck. We’ll eat sandwiches on the way there. I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry!”

Visions of her parents in danger racing through her head, she breathlessly stuffed the meatloaf into a plastic container, grabbed the bread from the breadbasket, and carried the food out the back door. Grandpa’s truck was parked behind the house, a quick walk from the porch steps.

But it was far enough away that she did not see the dark shape slip into the house through the open door behind her. Nor was she close enough to feel the putrid chill that the thing brought with its shroud of shadow, nor hear the clicking of many legs as they scuttled across the sitting room and into the hall toward the stairs.

She did, however, hear her grandfather’s shotgun go off upstairs.

“Grandpa?!” At first she thought he must have set off the gun accidentally, but running up the patio steps into the sitting room, she heard him cry out from the top of the stairs. He sounded very scared, and very old.

“Grandpa!” Her daggers were up in her hands instantly as she bolted up the stairs. At the top, she nearly dropped them in shock.

The thing perched on top of her grandfather was the size and rough shape of a dragon—but it was no beast Jennifer had ever seen before. Dull, rough black scales covered it top and bottom. The scales extended over two long and tattered wings, as well as six insectlike legs whose joints thrust up nearly as high as the ceiling. These legs ended in four-fingered claws that flexed irritably at the walls, the floor, and the prey beneath.

There must have been a head to it, but the entire front end of the thing—as well as the head and torso of its prey—was surrounded by an impenetrable gloom. The darkness trailed back over both bodies in disintegrating wisps, continually replenished by an unseen source. Crawford’s hand lay open on the ground, with the spent gun smoking next to it. Sounds of slurping and chewing, and the stench of poison, filled the dim hallway. The assault on her senses made Jennifer reel, and she had to catch herself on the stair handrail.

Suddenly, underneath those senses, another sense of hers perceived words. They were not spoken. They just appeared unbidden in her head, over and over.

no father no father no father no father

“Stop it!” she screamed.

no father no father no father no father

Her terror shifted into fury. Clenching her teeth, she charged down the hall at the thing and leapt on top of it. Before it could react, she had plunged both daggers into its back.

It gave an awful shriek that shattered the picture window at the end of the upstairs hall. The body heaved Jennifer off and she spilled to the ground, barely able to pull her weapons back out. Before she could ready them for another strike, the monster came about and the black cloud passed over her. The darkness seeped into her eyes and dulled her mind. Its breath lingered over her for a moment, and she felt something slimy probe the skin of her forehead—a tongue, perhaps?

Dazed by the dangerous sensations she felt, she swung up with a knife, but before the blow struck home, the terrible thing gave another ear-piercing shriek, scrambled down the hallway, and surged out the broken window. By the time Jennifer stumbled to the opening, it had vanished into the evening air.

A gasp from her grandfather made her turn around and go to him. What she saw surprised her—despite the horrific sounds the attacker had made in the darkness, Crawford seemed to have no wounds. But he seemed twenty or thirty years older, as if he had vaulted into advanced old age. The white fringe of hair was gone, and his skin clung to his fragile bones. With tears streaking her face, Jennifer gently lifted his skull.

“Grandpa!”

Cloudy gray eyes stared up but did not see her.

“No father!” he cried out with a dry voice that barely sounded like his own. “No father! No father!”

For a moment, his eyes cleared and he seemed to see her. A whisper of recognition passed. “Niffer?”

Then he collapsed from her hands and did not move.

CHAPTER 7
Another Dimension’s Child

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Jennifer remembered very little of the next two hours. She supposed, looking back on that night, that she must have called her parents. Her description of what had happened was urgent enough to get them to the cabin immediately.

Then, best she could remember, she went back upstairs, pushed her grandfather’s gun aside, laid his head on her lap, and cried. Eventually, her mother arrived, led her to a bed, and set her down upon it. She must have slept, of course, but she was certain she didn’t stop crying.

Her dream was of Crescent Valley, and the enormous crescent moon that lit up that world. It filled the sky, so much so that she could not imagine a way to fly around it. She spread her dragon wings and skimmed its gleaming, rocky surface. What was she looking for?

As if in answer, a stream of flame swept over her head. It circled around the crescent moon like a belt and then passed overhead again, and again, and again. Each time it passed, it was a little farther away, so that the belt of fire became wider and wider. Her path took her right under this growing inferno, but she did not burn. In fact, she felt cool.

“Grandpa?” She could sense him here.

Then she woke up.

Her parents were downstairs. Elizabeth was making breakfast—this almost never happened—while Jonathan stood on the porch, looking northward over the lake. Jennifer sidled up to her mother by the stove.

“Grandpa?”

Elizabeth hugged her.

Jennifer could feel herself start to cry again. “Where is he?”

“We’ve wrapped and stored the body for now. The crescent of the moon will be prominent later this afternoon. Some other dragons will come, and then your grandfather will be taken to Crescent Valley. There’s a ritual there, but your father won’t talk about it.”

“Can they bring him back?”

She felt her mother’s shoulders slump. “I don’t think so, honey. It’s not that kind of ritual. A funeral of some kind, best I can tell. I’m sorry, Jennifer.”

Jennifer started to accept the sympathy, and then broke away hotly as she remembered what she and Grandpa were trying to do last night. “You weren’t here! Neither of you! I was all by myself when Grandpa died, and you could have died, too—for that stupid house!” She began striking out at her mother in a rage. “It’s a dumb house! And with Grandpa dead, and you two dead, I would have been all by myself! What the hell were you thinking? Why weren’t you here with me?”

Elizabeth was trying to quiet Jennifer down, but settled for holding her awkwardly as the muffled blows continued. “Honey, we weren’t going to die! Grandpa told you about my promise to him?”

Jennifer nodded, sniffling.

“So he told you the story of his mother, and how they hid below the basement?”