Chapter Forty-Six – The Dragon’s Favorite Strays
Chapter Forty-Six
DAKOTA
It takes far too long for me to get Murr to set me down, but he eventually does. I immediately move to my daughter, running my hands over her limbs. “You’re okay, aren’t you, baby?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Mom. I’m fine. All I did was blow a whistle.”
Yes, but that whistle ratcheted up my anxiety. I hug her close and turn towards the others. Aggie and Dottie are waiting, not so patiently, beside one of Murr’s big back legs. They want to torture our captive, or at least make him think we’re going to. They’re doing a good job of being convincing, too, because I’m not entirely certain that they don’t want to torture him. I’m going to have to supervise closely. “Have you asked him about Stella yet?”
“Thought we’d wait for you, fearless leader,” Dottie says.
Am I the leader? Ugh. I don’t want to lead anyone, but I also don’t want to see a man slaughtered in front of my daughter if he says the wrong thing. Man, it sucks to realize you have to be the responsible one. I ruffle Rabbit’s hair and move towards Murr’s foot. He’s still got the man caged in his claws, but it doesn’t look like it’d take much to flatten him. Just a quick shifting of weight. “Hi there,” I say, bending over to address our enemy. “Fancy seeing you again.”
The man lets out a long string of nasty, four-letter expletives.
“I’m going to ask you not to say that sort of stuff in front of my daughter,” I tell him, keeping my tone cheerful. “If I get upset, the dragon gets upset. Understand?”
Curtis goes silent.
“We’re looking for a dog,” I say. “I heard you took her from Aggie and Dottie. We want her back.”
There’s a long pause, and a scrape of fabric against the concrete, as if he’s trying to wriggle out from under Murr’s claws. “You’re wrong. Those old bats are crazy.”
“We are not!” Aggie yells, pushing forward. I put my arms around her and hold her back before she can kick Curtis again. “You stole my dog! You’re keeping her because you want to sell her babies!”
Murr’s head tilts and his wings flutter.
“Don’t know nothing about that,” Curtis says, bluffing. “You’re either going to have to let me go or kill me.”
He’s not afraid of us, that much is obvious. But I’ve noticed that Murr’s paying attention. I think he picked up on a few words of our conversation, but it’s hard to tell what. I decide to repeat some of the conversation back to see if I can figure it out. “You stole a dog from Aggie and Dottie.” Those words elicit no response from Murr, so I continue. “We want her back, and her babies.”
The word ‘babies’ makes Murr twitch again. Aha.
“You might not be afraid of us,” I say. “But this big dragon loves babies and if he thinks you’re keeping us from them, he’s going to be very upset.”
Curtis just makes a dismissive sound. Funny how someone can have so much piss and vinegar while trapped under a dragon’s foot.
I look up at Murr and tap his leg. “He’s keeping Aggie’s kittens from her. Aggie’s babies.” I point down at Curtis. “Bad man.”
A low, dangerous rumbling starts in Murr’s throat. I know him pretty well and it’s still chilling to hear.
“Hey,” Curtis protests, more nervous. “Shut the fuck up, lady–”
“Give us back the dog and her babies,” I demand.
Curtis scrabbles under the claws, trying to wiggle free. He yelps, his hands flailing. “He’s stepping on me!”
My heart flutters nervously.
“Good!” Dottie says, arms crossed.
I shoot Murr a worried look, because there’s a thin line between scaring a guy and squishing a guy, and it looks to be a few inches under the dragon’s toes. “Just tell us–”
“I don’t know if we’re going to be able to control him much longer, Mister,” Rabbit says, moving to my side. She sounds really worried. “He gets nervous if he thinks animals are being hurt, and he can understand everything we’re saying. You might want to tell us where she is.”
“Rabbit, hush,” I begin. “Let me handle this–”
“Oh my god,” Rabbit continues, feigning terror. “He’s going to do it! Murr, don’t–”
Murr shifts his weight, and Curtis screams again. “Get him off me!”
Rabbit’s voice raises a hysterical note. “He’s going to kill you! Quick! Tell us! Tell us!”
“Okay!” The man blurts out. “Okay!! Just don’t let him kill me!”
She leans over him, screaming. Her tone is so urgent it’s making me panicky. “Tell us where she is! Hurry! We can’t hold him off much longer!”
Murr obligingly growls and shakes his wings, and my imagination fills with the thought of Curtis, popping like a bubble under Murr’s foot. “Guys, wait–”
“She’s in the vet clinic up the road! Locked in a kennel!” he shouts. “Get him off me! Get him off me!”
Immediately, my daughter stops shrieking and winks at me. She straightens. “Cool. Call him off, Mom.”
Call him off? As if I’m in control of this situation? I don’t know whose nerves are more shredded – mine or Curtis’s.
