1.1 Deals and Dragon Smoke

*Countdown to test that could ruin my life- 4 days.

So I’m watching the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen create a ball of grass in the air above her open hand. She pushes her fingers together. Slowly, elegantly. The tips of her almond shaped nails—blue ombré with a silver tear shaped diamond sparkling on her ring finger—barely below the root ball. As her fingers move, I can see roots slither through the dirt and grass. A green bud gently breaks the surface. It curves and wobbles its way towards the open air. The woman’s fingers are still, as if she turned them to stone, and the stalk grows a little thicker, sturdier. The

Two leaves sprout from the sides and suddenly the small bud turns inward on itself. Folds slice themselves open. Pink petals stretch backwards towards the air, as if looking for the sun even though we are inside a library in the dead of night. They lengthen until the entire head of the flower stands upright. A pink gerbera daisy with a dark black center stares at me proudly.

I look into the cauldron in front of me and frown at the bitter contents. A black, burned mess of sticky liquid that doesn’t even have the decency to show my reflection.

It’s okay. I don’t want to see myself anyway.

I sigh and absentmindedly look back at the woman two tables ahead of me. I spy the two silver stars pinned to her collar.

A second year, I think to myself. Maybe that should comfort me. She’s had an entire year to master whatever the hell she’s doing. While I’m just starting.

The daisy’s petals start to shimmer.

I roll my eyes. Now she’s just showing off.

I twirl my pen between my fingers and bang the back of it against the temple. I stare at the Apothecarie book in front of me. The words look like gibberish. I’ve stared at it too long. I look back inside the cauldron, secretly hoping for a different outcome, but the black conglomerate stares back.

I throw my back against my chair and hang my head over it. The vaulted ceilings of the library at Bogarts is as beautiful as ever. Even though I’ve only been here for a few weeks, I doubt I will ever get tired of looking at it.

The ceiling is black with small pinpricks of holes drilled into them revealing the stars above. The holes have been created to reflect the constellations currently above us and the ceiling rotates with them throughout the year. It’s supposed to help those in Cosmos better identify stars with the light pollution in the mundane world.

‘Mundane world’. Man I sound like such an expert now.

A few weeks ago I was living a relatively normal life. I had moved back into my mother’s house to sort through her things after she passed and I found a random book at a coffee shop someone had left. From there, it kind of all escalated. Now I’m staring at a manufactured ceiling built for a school that teaches about magic to people from different worlds.

‘Realms,’ I mean. Important distinction.

About to fail out of said magic school if I can’t decode this ancient recipe. It’s our first test in my Apothecarie class (potion making, alchemy, discovery of ingredients and their magical uses). We were all assigned different recipes from an handful of ancient books. Which means decoding an old language (mine isn’t even from my realm), finding the ingredients, and recreating the recipe perfectly.

But, looking at the burned mess scorched into the bottom of my homework cauldron, there’s no way I got the translation right. I either messed up the recipe or messed up the ingredients. Or both.

I stand out of my chair and grab the cast iron cauldron with both hands. This is our homework cauldron. Which looks just like all the others and stays in the school. But that also means it has to stay in good condition. So I can’t let this stuff just sit in here.

I pass by the beautiful second year as she makes the petals of her daisy shimmer monochromatic colors. We smile at each other. I try not to roll my eyes as I look away. It’s not her fault she’s amazing at her craft and I’m probably going to fail my first test. Will they expel me after my first failure? Or do I make it up with some extra credit like in regular—I mean ‘mundane’—school.

I walk out of the study hall and pass a couple of bookshelves. Three books close to my head start to shimmy their way out of their respective places and fly into the air. They shoot off as if late for an appointment.

I round a corner and am hit with the smell of iron and soap. The room opens into a large tiled bathroom. There’s a large trough sink against the wall in front of me. White, speckled tiles on the floor and green and gold tiles on the wall. Stacks of clean classroom cauldrons are precariously perched on either side of the trough. Long bristle brushes hang over the sink. I walk towards a set of gold faucets sticking out of the wall and set my cauldron inside. Then I reach overhead to grab a cleaning brush.

There are seven other faucets on either side of me, but the room is empty. Thank goodness.

I turn the faucet and wet the brush. A few pumps of the soap dispenser from the wall and now I’m elbow deep in whatever monstrosity goo I’ve created. Maybe I didn’t get the recipe wrong and the potion was actually for extra strength glue. Because this stuff does not want to come off.

The smell of metal makes my nose scrunch. I’m not the biggest fan of cast iron. I prefer a good clay pot. When—rather if—I specialize in an area for my degree I’m going to trade the cast iron cauldron for a good olla. If I don’t get kicked out first, that is.

Sweat is starting to wet my upper lip and I’m considering how anyone could possibly know it was me if I left this cauldron in the sink unclean— when I hear a chuckle over my shoulder.

Oh right. Serial number on the bottom. They would definitely know it was me.

I set the cauldron down with the brush inside and wipe my sweat off with the back of my semi-dry wrist. I turn to see the clown that’s been chuckling at my expense.

A tall, slender man with wavy black hair and brown eyes is causally leaning against the leaning tower of clean cauldrons. His arms are crossed, right underneath his three star pins, and he’s wearing a long, black trench coat like he’s auditioning to be the next morally grey villain in a fantasy novel.

He chuckles again and unfortunately has really great teeth. He raises an eyebrow at me and I scowl as I feel my stomach flip.

“Do you wanna help or are you just enjoying the show?”

“Maybe you should soak it first and come back to it? You seem to be giving yourself quite the workout.”

I roll my eyes and feel the butterflies die in my stomach. Thank god he’s an idiot. Attractiveness lowered. “Soaking for a long period of time is bad for cast iron. We might be in a magic school, but cast iron is the same anywhere.” Right?

His smirk widens and I feel like a kid that just admitted she believed in Santa Claus. “Or,” he thumbs to a spot over his shoulder. “You could fill it with water and simmer it for a while to bring that stuff out. Dry it completely.” He shrugged. “Unless you want the shoulder exercise.” The hesitation in the air makes his smile fade. “There is a table with burners in the other room.”

I look at the black gunk coating the cauldron. “I…Could try that.” I’d try anything at this point.

Suddenly, his arms are reaching into the sink and emptying out the cauldron of soap. He fills it with more water and plucks it out. Our shoulders brush. “I apologize for laughing. It was amusing, but I can see it offended you.”

Oh no. Don’t actually be nice. “You’ve already made it up to me if this tip works out.” I reach for my cauldron. “I can take that—”

He starts to walk towards the next room. “I insist. I’m curious what,” he looked into the cauldron and pursued his lips, “you’re trying to make here.”

I follow him into another room. It’s smaller than the cleaning room. A large, blank whiteboard is on one wall, with posters of chemical compounds on another. At the center is one community table with four burners perched on the counter top. Underneath the table are the gas containers.

“What is this room used for?” I ask as he sets the cauldron on the first burner.

“Mainly elementals practicing their magic. Creating fire, putting it out, manipulating it. But,” he turned the dial on the burner and a small flame licked the bottom of the cauldron. “It can also come in handy for aspiring High Alchians.” He grinned my way.

I laughed. “I’m a long way off from that.” A High Alchian is an ultimate potion master. An elite class of potion crafters. My professor was a High Alchian. You can teach apprentices and have entire workshops and realms dedicated to you as a High Alchian. I’d be lucky to graduate this class.

“I’m just hoping for Potioneer at this point.” Was I though? Did I really want to take Apothecarie as my specialty? Being my first year I had the entire year to decide, but if I was certain I could make my selection after six months. As I watched the black layers float to the top of the simmering water, I wondered how many cast iron cauldrons I’d have to clean if I chose this as my specialty. But the image of a cute olla with a little floral design around it did seem tempting.

“Why not shoot for the stars? Why settle for Potioneer or Infusionist when you could have all the knowledge you desire in your field? High Alchians would be the only route I’d take.”

It was only then that I noticed the patch on his stupid trench coat. A fox and a raven facing each other as if they were about to fight.

“You’re a FAR member.” I couldn’t stop the distaste from coating my tone. I took a step away from him.

He chuckled again. “I’m trying to be! Knowledge is interesting to me and the more you know, the more power you have. Three years at Bogarts and I haven’t made myself useful enough to be initiated. Still a potential fox or raven. The FAR Society does have its quirks.”

More residue started to lift as the water began to steam.

“FAR members—potential or not—never do anything for free.” I subtly tap my pockets. Empty save for a single piece of paper in my back pocket. Nothing I could use to get out myself out of a bad situation if it arose. “What do you want?”

He chuckled again but didn’t meet my gaze. “You sound like you’ve dealt with them before. Is that how you found yourself here at Bogarts?”

“No.”

“Keeping your answers short now! You really do know the Society. I do have a favor to ask, but I’m willing to trade a little more for it. Maybe I can help you figure out your recipe?” He tapped the edge of the cauldron. “This can’t be what you’re going for.”

I bit my cheek. On the one hand, my limited run in with these people were not good. Outside of Bogarts Magic Academy they nearly hunted me and someone I care about down for a little bit of information we didn’t even have (at the time). But…if I wanted to stay—and I really, really did—I needed to pass this test.

I pulled out the paper from my back pocket and rolled it out on the table. It was a copy of the recipe I was assigned but my terrible translations were written in the margins. “Ignore my handwriting.”

If he had fox ears, they would have shot up. His entire face alighted and the grin turned into a genuine smile. His brown eyes sparkled and he quickly snatched the roll of paper and brought it in front of his nose.

“This is Dangvingäsh!” His eyes met mine excitedly. “Goblin-speech!”

When I didn’t react, his eyelashes fluttered and he cleared his throat. “Well…Ahem. I love languages. I can read and write many ancient languages. In my second year I specialized in Nocturne with the concentration in Linguistics. It’s lucky we found each other!” He turned the page sideways to read the notes I made in the margins and his grin returned. “Ah yes, I see where you mistranslated a few items.” He barked out a laugh. “No wonder this happened!”

He handed me the slip of paper and pulled out a drawer under the table. He took out two grey oven mitts and grabbed the cauldron. “Let’s chat!” He gleefully ran back to the trough and poured the burned contents into the sink.

He thoroughly cleaned the inside of my cauldron while humming to himself. “Oh yes, this is going to work out wonderfully!”

Once the cauldron was cleaned, he set it beside the leaning tower to dry. He turned back to me and placed his hands on his hips, shit eating grin still plastered all over his gorgeous face.

“Well! Are you ready to hear my trade?”

I felt the dread rising in my throat. “Hit me with it.”

“I will give you the correct translation of your recipe if you deliver something to someone in one of your classes.”

I frowned. It wasn’t at all what I expected. “You…want me to be your delivery girl?”

Still smiling, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid with a small note tied to the top. “I recognized you walking out of the Nocturne classroom. There is a beautiful girl in your class who I would love to get to know better. But, anytime I’ve approached her she’s completely ignored me. So I had a third year Infusionist whip up something she might like! It also has my phone number,” he added quickly.

I paused. “Is this poison?”

His jaw slacked and he quickly shook his head. “Absolutely not! Bogarts has strict magical parameters that wouldn’t let anyone knowingly hurt another person! It’s the same rules as a middle realm here. No conflicts, no fighting, no harm done to anyone. I’d be expelled and then I’d never get to join the FAR Society! Besides, I want to talk to this girl. Not kill her. I’d love to take her out on a date, actually, but first step is to get her to talk to me.” He inhaled deeply. “So. You come back to me after you deliver the vial, and I’ll give you a translated version of your recipe. Deal?”

I looked at the vial in his hand. I could be upfront with her. Warn her. He never said I had to be quiet on the details. Maybe get a professor involved.

I looked at the slip of paper in my hands. The words written looked like runes carved into stones. I checked out six different dictionaries looking for symbols that looked similar. And I don’t think I even checked out a Goblin dictionary.

I took the vial from him and handed him my recipe. If only Esti could see me right now. After all the FAR Society did to terrorize us. Here I am casually making a deal with one.

“Deal,” I said.

“Fantastic!” He plucked the paper from my fingers and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m Ansel. I’ll be here at the library waiting for you tomorrow after your classes.”

“Elida.” I nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“Have a great night, Elida!” He waved and practically skipped out of the bathroom.

*Countdown to possibly failing or passing this test- 3 days.

The next day I headed to my Nocturne class and vaguely wondered how I would know the specific woman Ansel wanted me to give his ‘gift’ to.

The class was held in a small cottage on the school grounds. The cottage itself had been built on a burial ground and the yard surrounding it was a final resting place for any magical creatures that passed away while at Bogarts. Small concrete stones with various paw prints were the only tell that you were stepping on a graveyard as you walked towards the small, brown cottage.

A few of my classmates were already piling in even though I tried to arrive early to catch everyone. How would I know?

Then, all of a sudden, I heard a familiar chuckle. Off to my rightm a few feet ahead of me, was Ansel talking nervously to a woman who’s icy stare would be enough to freeze the ground she walked on. I could tell by Ansel’s hand motions that he was trying to tell her a story. Maybe it was good. Maybe it wasn’t. But her stare was so immovable he might as well be invisible.

The clock tower let out several ceremonial gongs to strike seven am. Ansel looked into the air as a flock of birds flew overhead.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “I have to get going. I hope to see you again!” As he turned to leave, he met my gaze. The bashful smile turned into a determined frown. As if warning me not to forget.

I blinked. Taken aback by the sudden change. Then his eyes widened and he hastily nodded in her direction.

I waved him off. Yes, yes. The beautiful goth chick. I see her.

He adjusted his trenchcoat and gave me an easy smile before running back towards the school.

I sighed. Already regretting the deal. I stared at the back of the woman’s head. Long, straight black hair. Pale skin. Sharp, black nails. She took a seat in the middle of the classroom. The cottage was one single room that had been outfitted with desks and chairs and a large chalkboard at the forefront of the room.

Chalk drawings of various bones with their scientific name and magical properties were carefully depicted.

She sat at the end of a long table which gave me the perfect opportunity to steal the only seat close to her. She ignored me as I sat down.

“I’m Elida,” I whispered as our professor walked in carrying a rolled piece of leather over his shoulder. He slapped the fabric on the center of his desk and rolled it out flat. A collection of various bones—long, short, white, yellowed, intact, and broken—strewn across the leather.

“I haven’t really made any friends in this class. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in my tower. You’re in the Hedge, right?”

She took out a black notebook and opened it to a blank page. Her eyes lashes were extremely long. Pale brown freckles dotted her cheeks. Her lips stained with black.

I found my gaze drifting down her neck and then realized I was no better than any man I complained about. I blushed and quickly looked at our professor at the front of the room.

“Um….I’m pretty sure I’ve walked in on you bleaching some bones in the kitchen….God that smell was awful.”

The professor pointed to a drawing of a bone that looked more like finger digit than anything. He then plucked the same bone from his collection and started explaining about various foot bones from sphinxes and their effective use in curse breaking.

She laughed softly beside me. “It is pretty terrible.”

It took everything in me not to jump out of my seat with joy. Success! I leaned towards her but kept my eyes trained up front. “You know, I heard a story once of a Death Witch that took over a Thunderbird after it died and used it to take down a really massive opponent. When do we get to that kind of learning?”

“Reanimation?” Her shoulder bumped mine. “Who is this person?”

“Um…She’s in another realm.” I hoped it didn’t go any further than that. Truth be told, that ‘story’ was in a book I had read. The same book that got me here, sure, but still. I didn’t actually ‘know’ them. Just their name and the realm it happened in….

She sighed. “They’re always in another realm. I can’t wait to leave this one.”

“Yeah? I do actually know someone that could help! She brought me to Bogarts, actually. Rael—”

A sharp clack on the chalkboard made me jump. I didn’t realize I had turned to look into her eyes, but there I was, getting lost in them.

The professor gave me a curt nod and continued on with the elbow joints of sprites and how they can help you get out of locked rooms.

“I meant in our fourth year when we can travel to other magic schools in different realms,” she whispered beside me. “But if you have a hook up….”

I risked a glance in her direction and was met with a mischievous smile. Her cheekbones were soft and cute but her canines were sharp. I smiled back and shrugged, trying to play nonchalant.

“Yarael,” she offered her hand.

I took it and noticed how soft her palms were. “Nice to meet you.”

The rest of the class went exceedingly fast. I learned nothing of bones and their magical uses and so much about how Yarael’s time at Bogarts had been. We confided in stealing some of the leftovers in the communal fridge in the tower (it is communal, after all), bonded over our love of freshly brewed espresso, nearly broke all ties over a disagreement on whether Taco Bell was good or not (it’s not, for the record), and laughed over our mixed bag of previous romantic partners.

The class ended as we were in the middle of a heated battle of which was better- food or sex. Then, the thought occurred to me.

“So,” I pressed my lips together, feeling the weight of my deal urging me forward. “You’re just…Not into sex at all?”

Yarael shrugged. “I like companionship. But when people talk about being sex obsessed, or the pleasures that they get out of having it, all I can relate that feeling to is when I have really good food.”

“And Taco Bell falls into that category?” I didn’t try to hide the mockery in my tone. Not one bit.

She leaned towards me and smirked. “It’s not my fault you have terrible taste.”

I laughed a bit too loudly and realized the professor had left with the class. His drawings of bones erased from the chalkboard. I started to stand.

“We should….Probably head to the next class…”

Yarael stood and started to walk towards the door. Suddenly, I felt like I was out of time.

“Hey!” I chased after her as she walked into the cemetery. “You know that, um, guy that tried talking to you before class?”

Yarael raised a suspicious eyebrow at me as we walked back to the main building. “Yeah?”

I pulled out his vial from my pocket. “Okay, look. I like you and I hope we can be friends. So I’m going to put everything out there. I need some help translating an ancient recipe for my first Apothecarie test. I’m scared I’ll fail it. So this third pin offered to help me translate it if I gave you this vial with his number on it. But…Something tells me it’s like an aphrodisiac or something. It’s gotta be.” I handed it to her, unsure if she would take it. “I don’t want you to hate me. I didn’t promise him you’d drink it. Just that I would give it to you.”

“Hm.” She plucked it out of my fingers and inspected the vial. We stopped walking. “A third year? In Linguistics?”

“Potential FAR member too. Just in case that changes your mind.”

“Well…” She opened the vial and sniffed the clear liquid. “It smells like cinnamon. Oranges. I’m curious.” Her eyes lit up. “Posion, maybe!” Her smile fell. “No….Bogarts would never allow it to exist on the property….” She shrugged again. “Maybe it is an aphrodisiac. I wonder what it would do to me.”

In an instant she drank the contents.

I gasped. “Wait!”

Yarael looked at the number written on the card. She took a pen out of her bookbag and wrote the number on her hand and handed the empty vial back to me. “I’d keep his number. You never know when a third year might come in handy. I’m keeping it in case I need him for something in the future.”

She started to walk again but stopped and turned to me when I didn’t follow.

“You….You just…” I shook my head. “You don’t feel any different?”

Yarael laughed. “When I said I had no sexual desire, I meant it. If it was an aphrodisiac, he wasted his time.”

I grinned and closed the distance between us. I felt bold, so I hooked my arm with hers as we walked. “But if I cook you a really good meal?”

She tipped her head back and hummmed. “Don’t tease me.”

“Well! Good thing I can’t cook to save my life. You’re safe with me.”

She rolled her dark eyes and we changed the subject to debating how performative Ansel’s trench coat was.

That night I found Ansel sitting in the study hall of the library with his nose buried deep in a large text book. I sat down in front of him and placed the empty vial on the table. I kept his number in a journal back in my room. Yarael was right. Having connections is smart.

He glanced at the empty vial and sighed dramatically.

“No call, huh?” I asked.

He shook his head like a child being told they wouldn’t have dessert. Silently he handed me a piece of paper. His handwriting was neat and clean.

I quickly looked over the recipe. I had definitely mistranslated some of the ingredients and some of the method. But one ingredient caught my eye.

Fresh Dragon Smoke- crushed and juiced- 2 oz

“What the heck does ‘fresh dragon smoke crushed and juiced’ even mean?”

Ansel shrugged. He turned a page in his text. “I just said I could translate it. Not understand it.”

I fisted my hands in my hair and groaned. “I’m dead. Cooked. Finished.” It was my turn to sigh dramatically. As I stood I looked at the top of Ansel’s melancholic, black head of hair and tapped it twice.

“Thanks, bud. Sorry you struck out.”

He pressed his forehead into the book. “What’s her name?” He mumbled into the pages.

“Yarael.”

He whispered it a few times before I left him to sit in his rejection.

*Countdown to inevitably failing test: 2 days.

Sitting in Criatuerie (magical beasts, creatures, familiars) listening to my professor ramble on about silkworms and how they evolve and change based on their realm when I really needed to be learning about how to crush and juice dragon smoke felt like a cosmic punishment.

I had read two books on dragons. Nothing. One book on the lore of dragons. Still nothing. I even asked my professor about bottling dragon smoke. She said I might have better luck in an Apothecarie course.

Well, duh.

But my Apothecarie professor was very clear. He would not help in any way. It was up to us to figure it out. But where the kids in my class actually playing by the rules? Doubtful. Maybe. I dunno.

If cosmic punishment was real and being delivered to me, then the Universe must have believed I had had enough. Because, as the class was nearing its end, the professor waved in a stocky looking guy to the front of the class.

He had the jawline of an alligator and a snout in similar shape. Orange and yellow scales peeked from underneath his tanned, leathery skin. His eyes were sharp, angled down towards his nose, and a bright yellow. He didn’t have any hair but he did have two brown horns on either side of his head. His shoulders were massive and his waist thick but strong-looking. Like he could bench press a castle.

“Class! Let me introduce Bri to you all! He is a fifth year from Waedul Prep. A magic academy exclusively for non humans for their first three years. Once you pass your third year at your home school, you may choose to venture out as an exchange student. Bri,” she beamed at him. “Tell the class about yourself!”

Bri snorted loudly through his nose and smoke rose from his nostrils. “I’m a Dragonborne. Which, to you baby first years, means I am a dragon with human qualities. I wanted to visit Bogarts because I’ve heard that the Mundane idolizes dragons and creates entire media and spiritualities around the idea of us. Thought it would be fun to stand out.”

The professor clapped her hands together. “And as part of Bri’s work study he was decided to help out our novice Criaturists! You will see him plenty in this classroom and with other first pins interested in magical creatures. I am planning on creating a syllabus focusing on dragons and having him lead. So stay tuned! That’s all for today! Let’s get Bri a really big welcome!”

The class clapped for a few minutes. I clapped the loudest.

I was salivating.

I still wasn’t entirely sure what a Dragonborne was but all I knew was that it had to do with dragons. Bri had to know the ingredient I needed!

When my classmates piled out of the room, I tried to keep my composure. Sure, his scales looked kinda scary, and his eyes had these black slits like a lizard or a dinosaur, but this had to be my chance. He was chatting with the professor. His voice was gravelly and scratchy. As if forming words was hard on his flexing throat. I told myself to stop staring but I also couldn’t help it. Besides. They weren’t looking my way.

“Miss Elida?” The professor called out. “Did you need something, dear?”

Professor Natacha was a sweet woman. Her brown hair was always frazzled. Her clothes wrinkled as if she had wrestled them just to put them on. And there always seemed to be some strange stain (God I hope it was dirt today) somewhere on her shirt. She loved bringing in creatures and throwing them in our faces. Sometimes literally throwing them.

But in this moment she looked at me like I was a poacher trying to take away the mother of her favorite phoenix for it’s feathers.

“I was…Kind of hoping to speak to Bri…” I twisted my wrists in my hands. Did they see me gawking? Was I one of those people that stare at things I don’t understand? Like when I dyed my hair blue and all the older men around me suddenly forgot how to blink?

Her face relaxed and she smiled almost proudly. “Oh you’re a curious one!” She turned to Bri. “See? I told you first pins—especially at Bogarts—will find you incredibly interesting! The kids at Bogarts have little magical interactions before coming here. So expect lots of questions!” She patted his shoulder. “If you don’t mind my leaving, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Bri nodded his head and smoke curled from his nose.

“Terrific! I have a litter of wampuses that need to be bottle fed. I’ll bring them to our next class together.” Professor Natacha hastily gathered her tote bag and ran out of the class. “You have forty five minutes!”

For some reason, I remained in my seat.

Bri turned his head to me and his eyes blinked sideways.

I may be out of my depth. I’m just a girl from the city. What do I know about talking to dragons?

“Um….” I looked at my desk. A dark walnut with my simple notebook and my favorite gel pen.

“Are you scared?” His voice was closer and it sent a shiver down my spine. I made the mistake of looking up and nearly bumped into his snout.

I flinched. “N-No! Not scared, really, just… I have a lot of questions and I’m scared I’m going to sound…” Stupid? Rude? “Not….Professional.”

His yellow eyes rolled and he shook his head. I wonder if his equilibrium is off with having such a large head. There’s no way I can ask that. 

“Just ask. I’m not easily offended.” He scratched his arm. Dry skin flaked off to reveal a budding scale underneath. “Thick skin.”

I laughed and then immediately stopped. “Was that a joke?”

Bri snorted. “Yes.”

I sighed heavily. “Okay fine.” I started with the most intimidating question. “Why does your voice sound like that?”

Bri blinked, probably surprised. “Does it…Sound strange to you?”

He didn’t know? “It just…Sounds like you have a bunch of rocks in your mouth. Like…” I cleared my throat and deepened my voice. Trying to make it sound like I had been punched in the throat. “It sounds kind of like this.” I cleared my throat again. “Man that hurt!”

Bri laughed deeply. He threw his head back and I saw two rows of extremely sharp teeth. A pink, forked tongue flicked out of the side as he laughed and held his belly. His voice boomed against the walls. When he pulled his head back he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Do I sound like that to you? No human has ever told me that!” He scratched his elbow and more dead skin flaked off. “Dragons don’t speak. They use telepathy and body language. But Dragonbornes can’t connect their minds to everyone like dragons can. We can use telepathy on other Dragons and Dragonbornes. So we have to learn to use speech for everyone else.” He touched his throat. “But it does hurt after a while. We drink lots of tea.” He smiled, revealing his large sharp teeth.

I felt my face pale.

“There’s something else…Really it’s a question for my studies…” I pulled out my Apothecarie notebook from my bag and slipped Ansel’s translation out. I showed it to Bri. “Any idea what fresh dragon smoke that can be juiced and crushed might be?”

Bri tilted his head and blinked sideways. My stomach flipped. He tapped his upper lip with a long claw. “Something comes to mind but…It’s back at my room.” He looked at the small clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes left till the next class. “Are you hungry?” His eyes met mine and suddenly I felt like I was on the menu.

“Um…I don’t think you have time…” Eating me would take longer than fifteen minutes. The cleanup alone would—

“Meet me for lunch tomorrow. After this class. I’ll bring what I think might help. No promises.” He scratched his arm again and growled.

“You…Good?” I asked a bit nervously.

“Scales live under our skin. When they’re ready to come out they make my skin dry and itchy. But if I pluck the scale I get these freckles I hate.” He turned his arm to show me the back of his elbow. Dark freckles clustered around a single spot.

I took the time to really examine his skin. Dry, for sure, but also inflamed from the scratching, hyper pigmented, and loose. He had the skin of a man that lived his entire life on the beach and never touched a drop of sunscreen. It gave me an idea.

“Well thank you, Bri. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” I finally found the strength in my legs to stand.

Bri smiled but I didn’t find it as scary this time. “See you tomorrow!”

I walked out of the classroom and headed to the greenhouse. There were some herbs I had to collect before going to my Nocturne class. I wonder if Yarael would find Bri interesting. Or just his bones?

*Countdown to the Impending Test- 1 day

Part of me has already started imagining what having to leave Bogarts would feel and look like. It’s pessimistic, sure, but I’d rather be prepared for the worst and pleasantly surprised than blindsided.

I’m sitting in the dining hall which was sop heartbreakingly beautiful thinking about never seeing it again made me want to cry. Dramatic? Absolutely.

The room was large and open. Ten rows of long, community tables filled the center. Students were constantly getting up and sitting down. A game of edible musical chairs. They carried plates full of different types of food with them from the massive open kitchen at the far end of the hall. The kitchen was loud, lively, and full of aspiring students like myself trying their hands at recipes given to them by their professors. Maybe I’d be there one day. Maybe by tomorrow it wouldn’t matter.

The walls were adorned with gold carvings of cherubs and bundles of fruit. The ceiling was made of glass and the sun was directly overhead, casting delicate rays of light over the steaming food. It was a place you could sit in for hours and be entertained. The noise of people chattering around me was comforting. I laughed to myself at some of the snippets I could overhear. Two women debating whether cheating on your partner counts if the other person was technically deceased, a man telling a story about how one of the flying books in the library wouldn’t stop chasing him around, and even a professor gossiping about two students in her class that she swore would get together by the end of the school year.

I was so entranced by the medley of conversations that I didn’t notice Bri sit in front of me until he spoke.

“Did you enjoy the class?”

I jumped and came back to the present. “Wampus cats seem like they’ll become a handful. But they were cute as babies. Fur was strangely staticy though!” I twirled a lock of curly hair around my index finger. “The extra set of legs definitely threw me off.”

Bri grinned. One of his fangs caught on the edge of his bottom lip. “I could have eaten one if no one was looking.” He barked out a laugh at my shocked expression. “Now then!” He pulled out a cloth wrapped around a lunchbox. “Speaking of eating!” He unwrapped the cover and split the lunchbox into two parts.

Dragonsbornes knew about bentos?

I tilted my head.

From the bottom half, Bri took out a small red berry. It was slightly fuzzy and ribbed like a raspberry, but three times the size. He handed it to me with an open, scaled palm.

I leaned into the table, taking a closer look.

“A smyerie. From my realm. There isn’t a way to crystalize dragon smoke into something that can be ‘juiced and crushed’ but this berry is grown from the charred soil of Dragons. We tend to live under the earth itself. Our smoke from casually breathing soaks into the soil, creating this berry. It’s juicy but also very smoky. The closest thing that I could think of when I saw your recipe.”

I took it gingerly, not wanting to squeeze it too hard, and brought it to my nose for a smell. It smelled of ash and sweetness, with a bit of bitter at the end.

Bri handed me his bento which had a handful of the berries inside. “Not sure how many would be enough. You can have them all.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“I can send a letter back home for them to send more. It’s a common fruit. I won't be missing it.” He scratched the side of his neck roughly.

“Ah!” I reached into my own bag. “I have something for you too! As a thank you.” I placed an amber jar on the table between us. When Bri took it and unscrewed the lid, I started to explain. “It’s a body butter. I made it from the oils of a few herbs and flowers. Calendula, roses, violets, and gout kola! All have great skin healing properties for dry, itchy, inflamed skin.”

Bri pressed his fingers into the soft mixture.

“It also helps strengthen your skin too! So it won’t be so loose and tough after a while. It won’t happen overnight, of course, but if you use it daily it will help with the itching from the scales.” I felt a twinge of embarrassment when he swiped a good glob of it across his forearm. “Maybe even help reduce the pigmentation too.”

Bri suddenly looked at me with tears in his yellow eyes. I felt pinned to my chair.

“Thank you, Elida.” He continued to rub in the lotion. “This feels amazing already. I’ve never….” He shook his head and looked at me again with a heartbreaking expression. “This is really all for me?”

I opened my mouth but my throat was so dry words couldn’t form. “Has…” I cleared my throat. “Has no one ever given you a lotion before?”

He looked back at his forearm and rubbed his hand across his skin. “It’s soft,” he breathed. Smoke billowed from the sides of his mouth. “Soft!” He laughed shakily and dabbed his eye. “T-Thank you!” His smile was so large that his eyes squinted so tightly I thought they might have closed.

“Um…” I felt lost. This was such a simple thing for me to make. But, to Bri, it was like I had crafted something a god would use. “Yeah. Of course!” I felt tears coming to my own eyes for some reason. The craziness of it all. Here I was sitting in a dining hall listening to people chat about werewolves while making someone that was part Dragon cry out of happiness.

There was no way I could leave this place. I would stay up all night tonight until I got this potion right. This couldn’t be the end of my journey.

To stop myself from actually crying, I changed the subject. “So what else ya got in there? Anything I’d like?”

Bri laughed again. His voice bellowed through the air. “Not at all!” He opened the lid of the other half of the bento and the smell alone of rotten meat was enough to deter me.

Later that night, as the stars spied over my shoulder to track my progress, my cauldron simmered a gorgeous red liquid that smelled of smoked strawberries. Yarael walked into the kitchen as I did a happy dance. Clad in a black lace nightgown and a hair mask, she took a seat at the island and asked about what I was making.

“It’s actually a funny story…” I started as I picked up a ladle of the most beautiful potion I’d ever created.

So far, at least.