Page 33 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

Frida’s remaining composure fractured. All the questions and desperation of the last hours tumbled out of her in an inarticulate mess. She almost swooned at the relief of finally having someone to ask who didn’t speak in snores or monkey poetry or blood-drenched sea spray. And not just anyone. But Fireheart. One of the oldest dragons alive. ‘Do you know what’s happening?’ she gasped out franticly. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

Fireheart eyed her with filmy distaste. ‘Well, that would be predictable, wouldn’t it?’ She inspected one of her red claws. ‘I would hate to be predictable. I just want to talk to you, that’s all, dear.’

‘To me?’ Frida whispered. ‘Why?’ I wanted to see you. Dozy had said that, and Lucky too. Why the fuck did all these creatures want to talk to her, let alone the greatest creature in the history of greatness.

A burst of aggravated inky smoke plumed from Fireheart’s nostrils. Despite this, all the monkeys, even loyal Jellybean, launched themselves as one out of Grace and tumbled, squeaking happily, through the hole in the fence. Seemingly unconcerned about the dragon’s irascible temper, they began skittering over Fireheart, covering her like a blanket of electric fluffballs. Frida watched, as Keanu started doing a slip ‘n’ slide down her tail.

‘As I said,’ Fireheart muttered, eyeing Keanu with stalwart disinterest. ‘We do not have time. You must come with me now. I need to show you something.’

Frida did not move, however, from Grace’s front seat.

She wasn’t sure if she could move.

She had to know, her body trembling with the memory of purple lightning. Suddenly, it was all she could see. ‘What did Lucky do to me?’ she whispered.

Fireheart made a noise, a wheeze so heavy it seemed to come from the very bones of the rock beneath her. ‘I forget how tiresome humans can be. Me, me, me. Always me.’

Frida swung back, stung. But Fireheart was already moving towards the dark craggy mountains that loomed in the depths of her enclosure. ‘We don’t have time. Hurry, azizam. Let us get this over with.’ She swished her long tail and sent sand and smoke up in clouds.

‘Ree!’ Jellybean peeped, beckoning to her.

Frida watched, helpless, as he did a backflip, and then started to scurry after Fireheart, leaping like a spinning firework. All she could see was the reassuring gleam of his yellow eyes and the flash of his tiny storms, until he was lost amongst the others.

Behind Frida lay her friends, asleep on the ground. A fairy too unconscious to answer any of her questions. The Nuckelavee, creeping through the shadows. She closed her eyes, her mind a tangle of dragon smoke, monkey thunder, briny sea spray, trees coming alive, and Apocalypse Scenarios 12 through 99. Maybe this was the end of the world. Maybe Fireheart did want to bring her to her cave and eat her but as Frida gazed at the smouldering hole in the fence, she realised that if she stayed here, she’d never know.

An invitation.

I want to talk to you.

Frida could wait here for the Nuckelavee or some other horror to claim her, or she could walk through this fence, to see what Fireheart had to say.

In the end, it wasn’t really a choice at all.

Chapter Twenty-One

Frida ducked under the devasted fence and set off at a sprint after the others. Chasing after Fireheart’s fiery belly, she couldn’t help feeling as if what Fireheart had said was true. Whatever happened now, the world as she knew it was gone. She could never go back to the Frida that hadn’t walked into a dragon’s enclosure.

As she climbed, it seemed that every time she glanced upwards, Dozy’s uncanny cavern of leaves grew closer, the emerald darkness blurring where the stars should have been. Not wanting to look, she focused simply on keeping up. Soon, the slope was near vertical, and Frida didn’t know how Fireheart managed it, or how long it took before they reached the top.

Finally, she hauled herself onto the ledge where Fireheart was waiting for her and collapsed in a rain of loose pebbles and dust.

‘Ree, Ree!’ Jellybean leapt around her in encouragement, his white mohawks kindling.

Fireheart was inspecting the minute details of the cracked edges of her sharp red claws with imperious nonchalance, her terracotta scales perfectly camouflaged against the shelf of sandstone. The air was thick with the smoky scent of sulphur and, as pinkish-brown fumes coiled around her, Frida somehow managed to haul herself up to sitting, laughing desperately as she dropped her head on her knees, spent.

‘How did you do that?’ she panted. She was fit – she could hike all day in sturdy boots. But Fireheart might have considered entering an Iron Man. Although Frida supposed Fireheart was used to it. She’d been under the LEZ’s care since 1835 and had even spent a few years at Forge House before they’d moved her to Melody. But she’d been in this enclosure since 1952, when it had been built especially for her. She must know these cliffs like the back of her own paw. This thought sobered Frida.

But then Fireheart gave a chesty chuckle. ‘Impressed, hmm? Didn’t expect someone as ancient as I to move so fast?’

Frida flushed and gave a shy what-are-you-going-to-do shrug as Jellybean plopped into her lap. She gathered him to her, pressing her face into his mohawks.

Fireheart waited, kind enough to let her catch her breath, before she lifted herself back up and Frida heard the audible groan of her arthritic bones.

‘Azizam.’ The word was a rusty hiss. ‘Come. That was the easy part.’

Frida gazed at the dark opening in the cliff face behind her. And gulped.

On the Swan’s group chat, there was an emoji they used when something particularly amazing happened. Like if some biologist discovered a new type of fairy mushroom, or Hamish managed to feed the root lizards without getting bitten. It was the pink flamingo emoji. Antony had once gone to Brazil with his family, a few years ago, and he’d not been able to stop talking about pink flamingos for weeks afterwards. It had become a joke between them, and now anything wonderful was synonymous with the flamingo.