This short story was originally published in the Winter 2016 issue of Helicon in my senior year of college. Before that, it was also the one I chose to revise while taking the first half of the fiction sequence. It needed a massive overhaul, and I was afraid that even after revision, it was still terrible. I received feedback to the contrary, polished it a little further, and finally submitted it to Helicon. Since the Helicon print issue is not archived online or otherwise accessible to my knowledge, I am resharing it here for old time’s sake.
Leon stole his dad’s wallet at midnight. It was easy, so easy it almost scared him. He crept into the master bedroom and over to the night stand, where his dad’s wallet sat. In the king-sized bed, his dad snored under the covers and hugged a pillow like it was supposed to be a person. Leon hesitated. This is worth it, he told himself. He was like James Bond. On a mission for something super cool.
He took the wallet to his room and filled out the online order form. Name: his dad’s. Credit card number: also his dad’s. Leon checked to make sure he used the business one, which could make huge purchases without tripping alarms, and then tucked it back in the wallet. E-mail: he made an alternate address, because leonfiregamer366@gmail.com was so obviously a ten-year-old’s email. Delivery address: ???
Leon frowned and steepled his fingers like he’d seen the masterminds do in movies. He couldn’t keep the dragon at home. His dad and sister would notice for sure—between the two of them, no corner of the house went unvisited for more than a week. And he couldn’t send it to his mom’s apartment. She’d explode worse than Dad. So, nope. No way.
After several minutes’ thought, Leon entered the address for Medieval Times. His dad would probably be there, but he’d be too busy running the place and practicing with the performers to notice the delivery, or so Leon hoped. And he could keep the dragon in some obscure corner in the back. The building held a dozen horses, two falcons, several storage rooms loaded with medieval props, a cellar full of beer, and a giant kitchen. Surely, if there was space for all of that, there’d be a place to hide a dragon. Just one little dragon. It’d work. Right?
His mouse hovered over the Confirm Order button. The laptop screen glowed brighter and closer than the stars outside his window, and, for a moment, Leon imagined that he could feel heat emanating from the screen too, like a dragon was sitting on the other side and blowing smoke, waiting, watching, wanting to know, well, what’s it gonna be, kid?
He clicked the button.
The webpage wiped itself of the order information and said, Thank you. Our team will process your order within the next forty-eight hours. Please check your email for the confirmation message.
Leon exhaled. He checked his e-mail. No message yet. Well, it had only been five seconds. Forty seven hours, fifty nine minutes, fifty five seconds left.
He powered down his laptop, snuck his dad’s wallet back to its spot on the nightstand, and went to bed.
It did not take forty-eight hours for the company to reply. It took twenty.
After dinner, he found a new message titled “Concerning Your Order.”
To Mr. Thomas Thursfield,
Your request for a Draconis wyvernis has been approved, and your payment has been processed. Representatives from the Tristan de Cunha Dragon Corporation will deliver your dragon next Tuesday at 11:00am. Please be present for the delivery.
We at Tristan de Cunha Dragon Corporation pride ourselves in raising and training dragons suitable for domestic households. However, if you come across any problems, please call the Tristan de Cunha Dragon Troubles Hotline at 1-839-572-6667 for assistance.
Thank you for approaching the Tristan de Cunha Dragon Corporation with your dragon-related needs.
Sincerely,
The Tristan de Cunha Dragon Keepers’ Team
Leon reread the message three times before he believed it. He reread it five times before he realized that he had less than a week to prepare for the dragon’s arrival, and so far he had zero pet supplies, a vague hope that Medieval Times would have a dragon-proof room, and an even vaguer plan for slipping that dragon into this unidentified room without getting caught.
A knock on Leon’s door interrupted his sixth read-through, and he heard his big sister’s voice, she was coming in, so he’d better not be in the middle of changing into his Pokémon pajamas or whatever. Crap. He slammed his laptop shut, spun his chair around, the doorknob twisted, the door opened, and there was Emma, with her manicure, and her five feet nine inches, and the self-assured sort of posture that Leon wondered if all big sisters had. Emma, who used to help him beat Zelda games and eat marshmallow banana sandwiches after school. Emma, who had hardly talked to him all summer because she was busy with pre-college stuff and meet-ups with her friends who were all older and cooler, or more fun, or maybe just more interesting than Leon, he didn’t know, she’d never told him. What was she doing here?
“Hey, little bro,” she said.
“Hi.”
“You doing okay? You’ve been holed up here all week.”
“How would you know?” The words tumbled out before he could check them. Emma’s face contorted with surprise, then confusion, and maybe a little hurt, so Leon elaborated, trying to sound less resentful. “It’s just, you’re busy all the time with your own stuff.” He scuffed his feet against the carpet.
Emma stepped inside and sat on his bed. The mattress creaked under her weight. Well, she was here now, she told him, so, how about he update her? What was new in Leon’s life?
Nothing, I’ve just ordered the best pet ever. “Nothing,” he said.
“Really?” He nodded. “Okay.” Emma stretched the word out, o-kay, like she still had doubts. She waited, saw he wasn’t about to say anything, and added, “Since you’ve got nothing going on, you should come shopping with me tomorrow. I still need to pick out notebooks and shit for college. We could hang out.”
“Okay,” Leon said. He echoed the way she said the word. O-kay.
“Awesome.” Emma paused, like she wanted to say more. But then she just wished him good night, stood up, and left Leon with only his dragon dilemma for company.
Leon wrote down a list of stuff to get for the dragon: two stainless steel bowls, like a large dog would use; one tug-of-war toy; one extra strong chew toy; one bag of dog food. PetSmart wouldn’t have things designed specifically for dragons, but the Internet said dog supplies could substitute. He tucked the list, along with thirty bucks he’d saved up from allowance, into his jeans. He hoped he had enough. His dad was ageist—he’d gotten Emma a car but wouldn’t up Leon’s allowance. Like, he thought Leon was smart enough to skip two grades but wasn’t smart enough to handle more money? Why?
Emma drove him to the mall after breakfast, and they spent all morning wandering through the stores. Emma asked, was this coffee maker too bulky? Which notebook should she get, the one with the cat or the trippy rainbow one? No, she didn’t want the one with the princess on it, she’d had way too much princess-y and medieval shit in her life thanks to their dad.
They stopped for lunch at the food court. One pizza, split, from Apollo’s Flatbread Pizzeria. Emma’s treat. They sat at a sticky gray table, surrounded by hyperactive kids and gossiping teenagers and tired-looking parents slumped over with cheeseburgers and Taco Bell. Emma fished for conversation topics—had he hung out with any friends lately? Not really. Had he played any new games? Yeah, some PC ones. He’d be starting sixth grade, how’d he feel about that? Leon grimaced. Everyone would be older than him, again, and bigger and kind of scary, again, and he’d end up in a corner nibbling on a half-squashed peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich that his dad had put too much jelly in, again.
“You just need one person who’s not an asshole,” Emma said. “They exist, I promise. Find them and sit with them.”
Leon asked, was that what she’d do at college? And would she drink champagne with the not-asshole at Urbana-Champaign? The swearword felt weird in his mouth, like it was too big for him. Emma laughed and said, sort of. No champagne. And don’t use that word, Dad would blame her for corrupting him. Except she said it like she didn’t mean it, like she liked hearing him use her language. Leon repeated the word: not-asshole. He was a not-asshole, she was a not-asshole, Dad was a not-asshole. Emma’s smile shrank, okay, really, he could stop now.
Okay, Leon said. But just for good measure: Mom was a not-asshole. Right?
Emma’s soda cup crumpled in her fist. She looked pained. She didn’t know, she said. Mom had fought for that divorce so damn hard, and then she didn’t even fight for custody, just left. Like, the house was Dad’s and he made more, it made sense for him to provide and shit, but Mom could try harder to keep in touch with her own goddamn kids. Weekend visits. Skype calls.
“She yelled a lot,” Leon said. “Before she left? I think we drove her crazy.” Emma didn’t say anything, so he kept talking. “I think she loves us because she says so and she had us visit for Independence Day, but I think we drove her crazy and I don’t know why.”
Emma squashed her crumpled cup. Her eyes looked watery.
“I’m sorry.” His throat tightened. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he felt like he should apologize.
“It’s fine,” said Emma. “It’s not—look, even if we’re too fucking awesome for her to handle, that’s her issue, not ours. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Leon. O-kay.
Several minutes of silent pizza-nibbling ensued. When they finished, Emma said she found most of her shit, did Leon want to get anything? Yeah, he told her, a few things, he thought maybe he could shop on his own for a bit. Emma shook her head. She’d keep him company, since he’d tagged along with her. It was only fair.
Crap, thought Leon. “Thanks.”
The PetSmart was crammed in between Staples and a jewelry store. Leon could see kittens and puppies through the windows, little fluffballs romping around their pens. Cute. Not as cool as dragons. Also totally a ploy to get customers, he was sure of it.
Emma accused him of eating dog treats in her poking-fun voice. Then he went inside and started plucking items off the shelves, and she asked, seriously, what the hell was he doing? Stuff for a friend’s dog? And why was he buying this shit, why not his friend? She trailed after him through the aisles, pressing him the whole time. Then they reached the cash register, where Leon found out the supplies cost twice what he had.
Emma must have read his expression. “I’ll help you pay if you let me in on whatever’s going on.”
Leon hesitated. He had no idea how she’d react if he told her about the dragon. But for the first time all summer, he had her attention without having to chase after it, and she’d never told on him, ever, except for that one time when he was three and he had eaten her crayons, but she had loved those crayons and he didn’t remember that incident well anyway. And he needed those supplies. “Okay. But in the car, please?”
“Sure.”
They paid and left.
They sat down in Emma’s Jeep, a gleaming hunk of metal she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday. She could have picked a Prius, or a Buick, but no, she’d wanted a Jeep, which Leon approved of because Jeeps made for cool adventuring cars. She rested her sandals on the dash and waited for him to talk.
Leon told her. Emma freaked out, holy shit, Leon, was he insane, why was he doing this, and why did it have to be a dragon? Why not a puppy? Puppies were smaller. And cheaper. And less likely to set things on fire. Leon crossed his arms. Dragons were dog sized, he informed her, which puppies became when they grew up. Also, dragons were so much cooler than dogs. And rarer. But he’d found a bargain price. Fifteen thousand, that was pretty cheap for a dragon, wasn’t it? Some places sold them for twenty. Or thirty, even.
Oh my God, said Emma.
It was worth it, Leon assured her. He’d done his research. Did she know that both parent dragons raised their young? And hatchlings stayed with the family flock for several weeks after reaching adulthood? And if one flock member was sick, the rest would feed it and protect it until it felt better? Also, dragons could learn to see humans as surrogate family. One rescuer took care of an injured one for a year and tried to reintroduce it to the wild, but it followed her home. Dragons were smart. And loyal. Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a friend that loyal?
Oh my God, said Emma, softer this time. A pause. He was crazy, she told him.
Bad crazy? Was he driving her crazy with his crazy?
Shit. No. She could handle his crazy. She loved his crazy.
Leon hesitated. Then he said, so, since she knew, would she like to help? With the dragon? They could do this one thing together before summer ended. And when she started college, he could update her on the dragon. Skype chats every night, he promised.
She hesitated. He waited, watched, come on, please. “Okay,” Emma said at last.
Yes.
That night, they met in Leon’s room and plotted for Step One: find a place to hide it.
Over dinner, Leon asked his dad if he and Emma could watch one of his practices.
Their dad’s smile took up half his face. Of course, he said, come tomorrow. Leon would love the new skit. And Emma, she hadn’t been to one in so long, but maybe she’d recognize some of the routines.
The Medieval Times in Schaumburg could have been a castle from the Middle Ages—almost. It had the sprawling architecture, the towers, the walls, the parapets, the wooden doors, the crests, the flags, even the grounds alive with greenery around it. But the stone blocks were too clean, too uniform, too large, too artificial; the crests were too colorful and abundant, as were the flags; real medieval castles didn’t have red and yellow marquees over their entrances; and a parking lot and driveway surrounded the building instead of a moat.
Leon, Emma, and their dad could enter through the back, since Mr. Thursfield was the manager, but their dad preferred to walk through the main entrance and view all the décor that his customers did. The main lobby had plush red carpeting, suits of armor, and a cozy bar. They would walk through the lobby and past the ticket stand to reach the arena, a vast, dimly lit room that had an oval field of sand. Around this field, tables with chairs behind them stacked up on all sides, like bleachers in a football stadium.
At the back of the field, gaping passageways allowed actors and their horses to pass between the arena and backstage.
Leon led Emma to the front row. Some performers were already out in the field, clustered in twos and threes. Their chatter echoed in the stadium. A couple wore jousting armor, for safety, but the rest wore jeans, T-shirts, sneakers, and other casual wear.
Except for their dad. He marched out of the back in full costume, the king, complete with plum cape and golden crown, his chest puffed out, his shoulders thrown back. He smiled and waved to his kids. Leon waved back. Then his dad called for rehearsal to start.
Halfway through the first skit, Emma leaned over and whispered in Leon’s ear. “I’ll do recon, you cover for me if Dad notices.” He nodded, and she slipped away.
Emma missed all the skits, and then the jousting, and pretty much everything else until the end of rehearsal. Their dad’s smile faltered every time he looked up and saw Emma was not there. During the falconry act, which the king had no part in, he slipped into the stands beside Leon. “I thought she wanted to see this,” he said.
“She does. She’s just not feeling well, so she went to the bathroom.” Leon tried not to feel guilty. He failed.
Emma snuck back at the end and told him she found a room that could work. Had Dad noticed her missing? Yes, Leon said, but he’d covered for her. Dad had been disappointed, though. Emma waved that off and told him not to worry about it, he’d forget, he was so damn obsessed with his work. She turned to watch their dad’s concluding monologue. Leon pretended he believed her.
Step One: complete.
Step Two: ready the equipment.
Leon filched his dad’s spare keys the same way he’d stolen the credit card. The plan was to sneak in at night and put all the PetSmart supplies in the room Emma had found.
“I’ll handle it,” Emma said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” The dimness of Leon’s bedroom cloaked her features in shadow, but he could still see her grin, like she was enjoying this. “You still have a curfew. Dad might be a little pissed if he notices me gone, but he’d be really pissed if he caught you out. Besides, I’m your big sister. Better me than you.”
Leon fell asleep before she got back, but the next day, she told him she still had the keys for the third step: pickup and transport.
At ten thirty-one on Tuesday morning, Emma took Leon over to Medieval Times.
At eleven sharp, a black van with a silver dragon insignia on its hood entered the driveway and slid into a space near the main entrance. Two men in suits unloaded a steel carrier from the trunk. The carrier, Leon noticed, was about the size of a refrigerator. And they’d have to carry it through the maze of rooms and hallways backstage. Great.
“Name’s Bill,” said one of the men. “And that’s Michael, over there. You’re here representing Mr. Thursfield? His kids? Let’s get your dragon moved in. He’s a fantastic creature, you’ll love him, a great addition to your family.”
Leon helped Bill and Michael. Emma led the way.
Leon wasn’t sure how they did it, nor how many weeks his arms would be aching for, but they reached the room that Emma had picked out. Concrete wall and floors, totally fireproof, nothing in it except for the things they had bought at PetSmart. Leon could have cried with relief. Then Bill expressed his dissatisfaction, which made Leon want to cry with frustration instead. “We need to find a different room,” he said. “This one is several cubic feet under the minimum recommended size.”
Emma looked how Leon felt.
Michael groaned. “Come on, Bill, I’m tired of carrying this thing.”
Bill frowned. “As members of the Tristan de Cunha Dragon Corporation, we have a responsibility to ensure that our dragons are situated in comfortable homes.”
“Newbie,” Michael said to Leon and Emma as if he needed to excuse Bill’s behavior. “Little overenthusiastic.” To Bill, whose indignant expression Michael ignored, he said, “Fine, but can we at least use the leash?”
“The what?” Leon asked.
“The leash,” Bill said, and pulled out a steel cable and collar from underneath his jacket. He gave Michael a meaningful look. Michael opened the door.
A scaly head inched out, nostrils flared, catlike eyes gleaming. It paused. And then, in a flurry of moss green scales and rippling sinew, the rest followed—a neck that flexed like a snake, leathery wings tucked against its back, jet-black talons that clacked on the floor, a tail twice as long as its torso and held stiff above the ground. Dark green feathers sprouted from the top of its skull, ran down its spine, and stopped at the base of its tail. More feathers covered the tail’s tip, like a bottlebrush.
The dragon moved like a bird, in quick, small movements. The feathers on its spine puffed up and flattened with its breathing. It swiveled its head around to stare at Leon, and its jaws parted just enough to expose its needle-sharp teeth. It almost seemed like it was grinning at him, a we-have-a-secret grin, or maybe an I-am-about-to-scare-the-crap-out-of-you grin. Leon felt birdlike himself, vulnerable, nervous, heartbeat fast and small and fragile.
“Wow,” said Emma softly.
Michael looked unimpressed, but Bill smiled. The leash, which he had yet to put on the dragon, hung forgotten in his hands. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”
The dragon tilted its head. For a moment, everyone appraised it, and it appraised them. Then it stretched out its wings, hurled itself into the air, and zipped down the hallway.
“Great,” Michael said. Leon froze. Emma swore. Bill, who still held the leash and collar, chased the dragon. Everyone else chased Bill.
They lost sight of the dragon, but an eruption of whinnies guided them in the right direction. They raced into the stables. Several horses tossed their heads and stamped anxiously in their stalls, and a stablehand with a mucking shovel in his hands stood wide-eyed. He told them, shakily, that a devil lizard had flown through, toward the arena.
I am so, so screwed, Leon thought, and took off. Emma and the suited men followed.
The arena had fallen into anarchy. Two actors in jousting gear lay on the ground. Their horses galloped around the perimeter. The horse trainer, Henrique, stood in the middle and shouted at the horses, then shouted at the “stupid reptile” flying overhead, and then resumed shouting at the horses, who ignored him. The dragon seemed to be playing with them—it would glide behind the horses for a few strides, veer off to loop around Henrique’s head, and then resume chasing the horses.
Next to Henrique stood Leon’s dad, dressed in all his kingly regalia. Leon couldn’t see his expression because his dad was facing the other way, watching the dragon. He said something to Henrique and stepped toward the far end of the arena, where the horses galloped.
The dragon noticed. It swooped down toward his dad, who fell on his rear, and snatched the crown from his head.
Bill stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Everyone in the arena turned toward Bill, even the horses, who slowed down and pricked their ears. The dragon swerved, landed in front of Bill, dropped the crown at his feet, and opened its mouth. Bill tossed a chunk of jerky into its jaws. Then he clasped the collar around its neck and called it a good dragon. Leon privately disagreed with Bill.
Henrique returned his attention to the horses, which were still prancing around nervously, and the jousters went over to aid him. Leon’s dad, decrowned, rumpled, and covered in dust, clambered to his feet and strode toward Leon and the others. He stopped a couple of feet away. He didn’t look mad, not yet, just bewildered.
Leon picked up the crown and dusted it off. It gleamed the same gold as the dragon’s eyes. He held it out for his dad to take, but instead of grabbing it, his dad lowered his head. Leon hesitated. Then, carefully, like his dad’s skull would explode if he messed this up, or like if he did this just right he’d make up for everything, Leon placed the crown upon it.
Bill introduced himself and apologized for the dragon’s behavior. “He’s just frisky from being cooped up for so long. Once he’s had time to settle in, he’ll be much better behaved. We at Tristan de Cunha pride ourselves in raising excellent dragons.”
Leon’s dad protested. He hadn’t ordered a dragon. Bill frowned and told him they had the payment records, fifteen thousand even. No, it couldn’t be identity theft, the kids were expecting the dragon. Did he really not want such a magnificent—yes, the kids, those two.
So screwed.
The tirade began. What were they thinking? Stealing from their own father. Importing a potentially dangerous creature. Had they even thought about how they’d take care of this thing? Feed it? Exercise it? Train it? Bill tried to interject—the dragon came trained, sir, Tristan de Cunha—but Michael elbowed him and told him to shut up. Leon’s dad continued as if Bill hadn’t spoken. Dishonest. Frighteningly irresponsible. Emma should know better, she was eighteen, practically an adult. How was he supposed to trust her with college, if she would do things like this?
Emma’s face turned red. “For fuck’s sake, you spend all your time playing dress-up and pretending it’s the Middle Ages!”
“Don’t speak to me like that!”
“I’ll speak however I goddamn well please!”
They grew louder, using words like cannon fire. Leon had seen this kind of fighting before, and he knew how it ended, someone would storm out and maybe never come back, he didn’t want that, please stop. It didn’t stop. He couldn’t make out who was saying what anymore because they drowned each other out.
Something hard and warm as a furnace brushed against his calf. Leon looked down. The dragon gazed back, teeth hidden, eyes wide, as if it wanted to ask, well, what’s it gonna be, kid? What will you do now?
“Stop stop it was all my idea!” Leon had to shout so hard it made his throat and lungs hurt, but it worked. Emma and his dad stopped. “I was going to do it myself but then Emma found out and she thought it was a bad idea but I talked her into helping because dragons are awesome okay?”
“Leon,” his dad said, “that doesn’t excuse—”
“And you need to stop yelling because you might scare the dragon,” he added, ignoring the fact that the dragon did not look frightened in the least. “They’re smart, so they’re sensitive to stuff like that.”
“I’m—”
“I didn’t mean to make you mad but don’t take it out on Emma because I want her to call home when she leaves and—”
“Christ,” said Emma, “I’d still call you, no matter how angry I got at Dad.” A pause. “Oh my God, you don’t think I’d—I would. I promise.”
His dad let out a long, slow breath and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, Leon. I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have yelled. But what you two did was also something you shouldn’t have. Understand?” Leon nodded, mostly because the fighting had stopped and he figured nodding would help keep it that way, and his dad turned to Bill. He asked about the refund policy.
“Wait,” said Emma. “You should let him keep it.”
What?
“You mean the exotic pet you stole money from me to order.”
“No, seriously, I think it would be good for him. He could learn responsibility and shi—stuff.” His dad looked incredulous. She kept talking. “You could keep it here and have it be a part of your act. Dragons are medieval, right? And this one’s already trained. You guys could look after it together.” His expression wavered. Emma’s voice softened. “Leon would like spending more time with you. And you’d both like the dragon.”
Silence. Hesitation. His dad watched the dragon tilt its head and puff up its spine feathers. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. All right, he acquiesced. They would keep it. But the three of them would talk about this later.
Thank you thank you thank you. Thank you Emma I love you.
They had to pick a name. Leon asked Emma if she’d like to, trying to tell her with his face and his voice that she should because she of all people deserved to name this dragon, but she shook her head. Nah. It was all his idea, remember? Okay, okay, if he really wanted her input, how about something from the legend of King Arthur?
The dragon seemed to grin at him again. Its eyes gleamed, and it showed a hint of teeth.
Leon went with Merlin.