were bound to be people with cameras. But you might as well try to keep Tom from rescuing people as keep him from breathing. She decided at least to minimize the damage to the diner.
She would make sure fewer people were watching who could talk about mysterious flying dragons. And she’d make sure Anthony didn’t get so carried away he forgot the fryer.
* * *
Bea woke up in a smoke filled room. For a moment, blinking upward at the black-blue cloud between her and ceiling, she wondered if she were flying. Then she smelled burning. Not just burning wood, as in a fireplace, but the particularly unclean smell of a burning house, and then—
She ran to the window, which was closed, and looked down at firemen far, far below, holding up one of their jumping rigs. Jumping from here to there would be kind of like jumping from the top of a giant diving board into a washtub like in all those cartoons she’d watched when she was a kid.
She opened the window, took a lungful of air and yelled down ,“No.” Because she couldn’t jump. She just couldn’t . They yelled back, but she couldn’t hear them.
The worst part of all this was that her mind felt foggy and slow and she couldn’t figure out why she was here, in what appeared to be the prototypical tower for a fairy princess—a tower that was on fire below her. No. Not the prototypical tower. A look around disclosed that she was in a well-appointed room with a canopy bed, a nice armchair, and what looked like an antique desk. There was a bathroom opening off her right. The usual little cards on how to call the concierge gave away this was a hotel room. But where?
Instructions for what to do in a fire came back from her elementary school days. She ran to the door to the room, and felt it. Burning hot. Well, she wasn’t going to open that door. Instead, she went into the bathroom, soaked one of the towels, and stuffed it under the door.
This cut down the smoke, and her head cleared a little.
It still felt too painfully slow, as though she had a cold or were recovering from illness.
As she pushed the towel under the door with the tip of her toe, she remembered what she’d seen out the back window, across the parking lot. There was a diner there. There was something to do with a diner…
All of a sudden the voice of the Great Sky Dragon came back to her, telling her that she must meet and marry Tom Ormson, the co-owner of a diner.
She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of marrying a total stranger—and more, a stranger who was in love with someone else—just because some many-times ancestor of hers decreed it. And she’d withstood his barrage of protest, telling him she wanted nothing to do with this, and she couldn’t understand why it would be more likely that the dragon shifters would obey Tom because he was married to her since she was also not Chinese.
He’d yelled at her. He’d lapsed into Chinese, or perhaps some even more ancient Asian language. And then she’d turned to leave.
Her head felt sore, and fingers run gingerly across her scalp disclosed a bump over her left ear.
Oh, no, he didn’t she thought. But it was clear that the Great Sky Dragon had in fact done something to her. Her head hurt. She was probably concussed. And the idiots had put her here and set the house on fire. Why? Was it dearest many-times great-grand’s attempt at punishing her for not obeying? How nice of him.
Though to do him justice, perhaps he hadn’t set the house on fire. She went to the window again and saw that few people were watching the window. So, all she needed to do was shift, and then she could fly away from this, and—
And absolutely nothing. She tried to induce the shifting. Normally the problem was trying not to shift when she was panicked. Now, nothing would happen. Could the Great Sky Dragon take her shifting away? Surely not. He wasn’t magical. She didn’t know what the shifting was, but it wasn’t magic. Not the
She would make sure fewer people were watching who could talk about mysterious flying dragons. And she’d make sure Anthony didn’t get so carried away he forgot the fryer.
* * *
Bea woke up in a smoke filled room. For a moment, blinking upward at the black-blue cloud between her and ceiling, she wondered if she were flying. Then she smelled burning. Not just burning wood, as in a fireplace, but the particularly unclean smell of a burning house, and then—
She ran to the window, which was closed, and looked down at firemen far, far below, holding up one of their jumping rigs. Jumping from here to there would be kind of like jumping from the top of a giant diving board into a washtub like in all those cartoons she’d watched when she was a kid.
She opened the window, took a lungful of air and yelled down ,“No.” Because she couldn’t jump. She just couldn’t . They yelled back, but she couldn’t hear them.
The worst part of all this was that her mind felt foggy and slow and she couldn’t figure out why she was here, in what appeared to be the prototypical tower for a fairy princess—a tower that was on fire below her. No. Not the prototypical tower. A look around disclosed that she was in a well-appointed room with a canopy bed, a nice armchair, and what looked like an antique desk. There was a bathroom opening off her right. The usual little cards on how to call the concierge gave away this was a hotel room. But where?
Instructions for what to do in a fire came back from her elementary school days. She ran to the door to the room, and felt it. Burning hot. Well, she wasn’t going to open that door. Instead, she went into the bathroom, soaked one of the towels, and stuffed it under the door.
This cut down the smoke, and her head cleared a little.
It still felt too painfully slow, as though she had a cold or were recovering from illness.
As she pushed the towel under the door with the tip of her toe, she remembered what she’d seen out the back window, across the parking lot. There was a diner there. There was something to do with a diner…
All of a sudden the voice of the Great Sky Dragon came back to her, telling her that she must meet and marry Tom Ormson, the co-owner of a diner.
She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of marrying a total stranger—and more, a stranger who was in love with someone else—just because some many-times ancestor of hers decreed it. And she’d withstood his barrage of protest, telling him she wanted nothing to do with this, and she couldn’t understand why it would be more likely that the dragon shifters would obey Tom because he was married to her since she was also not Chinese.
He’d yelled at her. He’d lapsed into Chinese, or perhaps some even more ancient Asian language. And then she’d turned to leave.
Her head felt sore, and fingers run gingerly across her scalp disclosed a bump over her left ear.
Oh, no, he didn’t she thought. But it was clear that the Great Sky Dragon had in fact done something to her. Her head hurt. She was probably concussed. And the idiots had put her here and set the house on fire. Why? Was it dearest many-times great-grand’s attempt at punishing her for not obeying? How nice of him.
Though to do him justice, perhaps he hadn’t set the house on fire. She went to the window again and saw that few people were watching the window. So, all she needed to do was shift, and then she could fly away from this, and—
And absolutely nothing. She tried to induce the shifting. Normally the problem was trying not to shift when she was panicked. Now, nothing would happen. Could the Great Sky Dragon take her shifting away? Surely not. He wasn’t magical. She didn’t know what the shifting was, but it wasn’t magic. Not the
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