As I softly ordered my hair to untangle itself, the shimmering streaks of blue and purple gleamed among the dark strands. They were natural. They indicated who—or rather, what—I was and were as much a part of me as was my tattoo. My ink was a reminder to me that I belonged, when everybody else said I didn’t. A blue dragon, the tattoo coiled up from my waist with the tail curling near my hip. The dragon slinked up my right side, surrounded by waves, curling up so that the neck and head coiled over my right shoulder and down my arm, with more ocean waves along the side.
I flipped on the blow dryer, the heat warming me as I instructed my hair to section out, holding itself away from my head while I aimed the blowing air at it. That was one lovely thing about being a dragon—my hair had a mind of its own and I could make it behave however I wanted. Which was why—when the Wing-Liege cut it—it had hurt me so much, and been so painful. Our hair was part of our body, a part of our mane when we were in dragon form, and unlike humans and Fae, it had nerve endings and could register pain and pleasure. Touching Alex’s skin with my hair gave me a thrill, even as having someone yank on it could hurt like a son of a bitch.
As the hair fell into place, smoothing softly against my head in clean, gleaming lines, I began to shake off the evening so far. Earlier in the afternoon, I had been uneasy about coming here. I thought it was just because I would have to face a bunch of strangers and pretend to be Fae—my cover was that of a water Fae, a nymph, to be exact. Humans didn’t really know about dragons, and we aimed to keep it that way as much as possible. But something had set me on edge, and now I wondered if I had been anticipating Glenda showing up.
When my hair was dry and smooth, I slid my feet into the plush terry slippers Bette had left next to the robe and headed into the bedroom to find her sitting there, checking her phone, with a worried frown on her face. She glanced up as I sat down beside her.
“All washed up and clean?”
“Yeah, the chlorine is off my skin, so I should be fine. You get some bad news?” I leaned back in the chair, thoroughly enjoying the soft sinking feeling of the cushions.
Bette looked about ready to say “no” but then she paused. “I’m not sure if it’s bad news or not. That’s the problem. I told you I’m worried about a friend, right?”
She seemed reluctant to say anything, which meant she wasn’t at all sure on what she was chewing on. I knew Bette and she wasn’t reticent with her opinions unless she really wasn’t clear on what she thought about something.
I nodded. “Right. Why don’t you tell me and we can decide if it’s bad news together?” I motioned to the robe. “I really don’t feel like wandering around in a group of strangers wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Plus it will give them time to change the subject to something other than Glenda, Alex, and me.” Grinning, I stuck my feet up on the ottoman and settled back, thinking that if Dent had this kind of furniture, I’d consider hanging out with him, too.
Bette lit up a cigarette and, as usual, let it dangle off her lip. I was about to ask if Dent let her smoke inside, but then saw a few ashtrays scattered around, which meant he probably smoked, too. Bette was no fool—she never got involved with nonsmokers or teetotalers who might try to curb her habits. But she was also gracious enough to refrain from lighting up in my house, or over at Ralph’s, and she kept her smoke downwind.
As she inhaled deeply, then blew out a ring to make even a dragon jealous, she gave me a little shrug and put her own feet up. “All right. I hate telling secrets—it sounds so ridiculous at times, but, fuck a duck, this has been eating me up. I don’t know if you realized that I go down to volunteer at the Supe Community Council once a week. I teach an art class.”
I stared at her. It was hard to imagine Bette doing anything of the sort. But I kept quiet and nodded.
“So, a lot of my students tend to be elderly Fae—mostly Earthside. They’re . . . think of them like the great-aunt in the upstairs attic. They’ve lost just enough strength and vitality to lack confidence, but they’re still in fairly good health. Which means another few hundred years to go before they die, but they aren’t ready to die just yet.”
I knew very little about the Fae when they aged—my kind tended to keep to themselves for the most part. It was mostly due to arrogance, but regardless of the cause, there were few dragons who took an interest in the outside world, or outsiders for that matter. We tended to be an insular race.
Bette puffed on her cigarette. “So, the problem is this: I have a student there, a friend really. Her name is Marlene, and she’s one of the Woodland Fae. She’s a lovely woman, but she’s drifting, really. When the Fae get as old as she is, especially the nature Fae, they tend to get a bit . . .” She looked like she was trying to find a polite word for what she was thinking.
Ever helpful, I said, “Balmy?”