Dragon's First Christmas Read online

  Dragon’s First Christmas

  by Emily Martha Sorensen

  Copyright © 2016 Emily Martha Sorensen

  Cover art by Eva Urbaníková

  Dedication:

  For Ann Keeran,

  beta-reader and typo-finder extraordinaire.

  For Meredith Dixon,

  whose knowledge of historical accuracy

  far surpasses my own.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Charred

  Chapter 2: Chasten

  Chapter 3: Challenge

  Chapter 4: Charm

  Chapter 5: Chimney

  Chapter 6: Chore

  Chapter 7: Choleric

  Chapter 8: Cheer

  Chapter 9: Chill

  Chapter 10: Choice

  Chapter 11: Cherished

  Chapter 1: Charred

  A scaly head poked up under Rose’s toes, which were cold from hanging out of the blankets at the end of the bed.

  The tree was hot and bright. Could he play with it?

  “We’re not lighting the candles before Christmas Eve,” Henry murmured from beside her. “Virgil, go back to sleep.”

  The tree was hot and bright now. Virgil had sneezed, and the tree was hot and bright. Could he play with it?

  Rose’s eyes flew open.

  “You set it on fire?!” Henry shouted.

  It was hot and bright. Virgil had made it pretty. Could he —

  Both of them were already scrambling out of bed and moving. Henry pounded down the hallway ahead of her, so Rose swerved into the bathroom to seize a towel and dunk it in the toilet. Drenched towel in hand, she raced after him.

  The bottom of the Christmas tree was wreathed in flames. Henry was beating it out with a cushion, without much success. A spark caught the wick of a candle that had fallen askew from the beating, and fire licked up the branch it was perched on.

  Rose joined in with the wet towel. Each time she thought she’d caught it all, another lick of flame curled up, and she had to beat back branch after branch after branch.

  At last, just as she was thinking the last sparks were finally gone, the charred tree fell over with a resounding crash.

  Henry waited, poised, blackened cushion in hand.

  Rose’s heart hammered as she held the soaked, soot-covered towel.

  “I think it’s out,” Henry said with relief.

  Virgil’s parents had been hitting the tree, and now it wasn’t pretty anymore. Why was it on the floor?

  Henry spun around and glared at the little dragon who was moving down the hallway.

  Virgil was half-rolling, half-crawling, using his tail for balance, as he was wont to do. His arms and legs were not yet strong enough to hold up his weight, but he still squirmed along at a rapid pace that any human two-month-old would envy. Their baby crawl-rolled closer, seeming completely oblivious to the danger he had just put them in.

  The tree wasn’t pretty anymore. Could he still play with it?

  “You are not supposed to get out of bed without permission!” Henry roared. “Do you understand?!”

  Virgil’s tail whipped around his head, as if to hide him.

  Virgil’s father was angry. Virgil was sad. Virgil was very sad. Virgil was going to scream.

  “No!” Rose said immediately, leaping to the little dragon. She ran her hand along his head to comfort him. “No, Virgil. No screaming. Remember?”

  Virgil was sad! Virgil was very sad! Virgil was feeling better. The tree wasn’t pretty anymore. Could he still play with it?

  Without a word, Henry spun around and stalked into the kitchen. He came back with a broom and dustpan, which he used to start sweeping blackened needles and shattered ornaments off the carpet. His arms moved fiercely. Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.

  It was bizarre that Rose was the one left comforting the baby. Usually Virgil preferred Henry, who was far more sympathetic and patient with him.

  “There, there,” Rose murmured, wondering if that would be at all sufficient. What did Henry usually say to prevent tantrumming?

  Sometimes she felt like they were doing just fine raising Virgil. Other times, the enormity of the task swept over her. This was one of those times. Here they were in 1920, millions of years after the rest of his species had gone extinct, two humans trying to care for a Deinonychus antirrhopus dragon baby. Despite the fact that they were doing it, sometimes it seemed impossible, or even ludicrous.

  If they had been Deinonychus parents, they would have been far more equal to the task. If Virgil had not been the first, at least they could have benefited from other human parents’ advice. But no, they were the only ones who could figure out what Virgil needed. And now — Rose’s heart pounded as she thought of the danger they had just been in — they did not even know how to protect themselves, much less him.

  She had thought that if more of the dragon eggs at the museum hatched, it would make their task easier. After all, there would be other parents in their situation to swap ideas with. But in some ways, the presence of Violet in the city only made things more difficult. Because Violet . . .

  Virgil squirmed under her fingers, apparently catching her thoughts, as he did all too frequently when she least wanted him to. The tendency reminded her of her sisters’ proclivity to eavesdrop on everything.

  Virgil liked Violet. Could Virgil go to visit Violet? Her house had lots of interesting prey!

  Henry slammed the trash can onto the floor beside him, then emptied the dustpan into it. “No, Virgil,” he said sharply. “We are not going to reward you with a trip to the zoo for burning down the Christmas tree.”

  Virgil was disappointed. Virgil thought Violet was interesting. Could Virgil play with the tree?

  “No!” Henry shouted.

  Violet lived in the zoo. A place where they were determined their son must not end up. A place filled with well-meaning people who kept pressuring them to transfer Virgil to their care because they thought they could do better for him.

  Perhaps, Rose thought grimly, staring at the charred remnants of their Christmas tree, perhaps they were right.

  They couldn’t allow this to happen again. It had been pure luck that nothing worse had happened. So what if the best thing for both them and Virgil would be . . .?

  Rose stood, restlessly. She cradled Virgil in her arms and strode into the kitchen. The little dragon wriggled and nearly sunk his curved back claws into her arm, but she had grown deft at avoiding them.

  She opened the door to the appliance that had once been an oven, but was now Virgil’s bed. There was no longer gas connected to it, which made it impossible for them to cook their own food at home. They had been borrowing their neighbors’ ovens for several weeks now, or else eating their food cold, ever since Virgil had figured out how to escape the bathtub they had originally used as his bed.

  She placed the little dragon inside and shut the door until it rested against the curved piece of metal they had nailed to the inside of the door. It acted as a doorstop to keep it from closing entirely, so that there was always a crack for air to get in so that Virgil could breathe.

  Virgil wriggled around, his tail thumping against the side, his claws scraping the floor. He was restless! He was tired! He didn’t want to be in his bed! He wanted to be playing with the tree that wasn’t pretty! He was angry! He was sleepy! Maybe he would take a nap.

  Rose waited with bated breath, trying not to think of anything, as Virgil’s thoughts settled down and he ceased to communicate. At last, when she was fairly certain he was asleep, she walked out of the kitchen, a deep weariness settling over her.

  She worked with Henry in silence, cleaning up the shattered ornaments and singed pine needles. At last, when the
y were finished, they lifted up the tree together.

  Unsurprisingly, the carpet underneath where the tree had stood was charred, and even the wood underneath was blackened in the spots it was visible through the holes in the carpet.

  “So much for hiding this from our landlord,” Rose joked.

  Henry did not laugh.

  Rose sighed. It wasn’t really funny. The man had been outraged when he’d seen what they’d done to the oven. They had not informed him that Virgil could breathe fire, primarily because they had been hoping it would not cause any issues. That decision now seemed stupid and naive.

  When he saw what had happened to the carpet, there was no doubt that he would evict them. And rightly so, really. If Virgil could now escape from his bed and wander around the apartment while they were sleeping, this would happen again. And again. And again. Staying here was no longer safe.

  “What now?” Henry asked.

  Rose swallowed. “I have no idea,” she said.

  Chapter 2: Chasten

  Unspeakable as the zoo was as an option, it seemed nevertheless like a good place to go to ask for advice. Central Park Zoo had been taking care of Violet for two months now — or three weeks, if you counted only the time after she had hatched.

  Henry seemed ill at ease as they approached the enclosure where Violet was kept. He was always uncomfortable when they came here, no doubt because he was afraid his son would wind up an exhibit. In fact, the only reason Rose had managed to convince him to come here the first time had been the urgent necessity of the two dragons meeting.

  “After all, you can’t deny Virgil the only chance he might have to play with another child of his species,” Rose had said.

  “There are ten eggs left in the museum,” Henry had retorted. “Chances are, there will be other dragons he can play with later.”

  “We can’t know that,” Rose had shot back. “And in the meantime, why would you deny him the chance to meet another Deinonychus when he has the opportunity? Do you really think that is what is best for him?”

  Now, as they passed an elephant loaded down with a dozen school children who were shouting and laughing, Henry walked with his shoulders hunched and his arms tensed.

  Perhaps it was the sight of the powerful lions and tigers trapped behind metal bars in small spaces. Perhaps it was the children, whose parents were strolling beside the elephant as a zoo keeper led it down the walkway. Perhaps it was the fact that their son would never have that opportunity, and would in fact be far more likely to wind up behind the bars of a cage.

  They stopped at Violet’s enclosure.

  Virgil poked his head out of the pram they had been pushing him in.

  He was very excited! He had burned down the tree, so his parents had brought him here to see Violet!

  “This is not a reward,” Henry growled.

  Rose looked around for the zoo worker who had been assigned to Violet. Given the dragon’s intelligence, rarity, and fire-breathing, the zoo had prudently assigned a keeper to stay in the area at all times that the zoo was open to prevent any danger towards incautious patrons . . . or harassment from them. Sure enough, there was a man in a tweed suit and bowler hat tossing food into the grizzly bear cage just a few cages down.

  As Virgil shared his happy memories of the burning tree — to Henry’s evident frustration — Rose parted from her husband and child to walk over to the zoo keeper.

  “Good morning, Mr. Westchester,” she said politely. “How are things at the zoo today?”

  The man turned and moved to tip his hat, then seemed to recall that he had just been holding raw meat in it. “Quite good,” he said. “Can’t complain. And you?”

  Abysmal, Rose wanted to say. Yesterday, Virgil started a fire while we were asleep, and we have no idea how to stop him from doing it again. But she didn’t dare say that. Mr. Westchester was one of the many people at the zoo who had been pressuring them to move Virgil there.

  “Preparing for Christmas,” she said cautiously. “We have been thinking about building a new bed for Virgil, something far more contained, in case he starts getting strong enough to crawl out of bed while we’re asleep. Have you any suggestions?”

  “Steel bars,” the man said bluntly, pointing back at Violet’s cage. “An apartment building wasn’t built for dragons. We keep nothing flammable near her with good reason.”

  Rose’s fists tightened at her sides. She reminded herself that civility was a necessity.

  “We will not be taking Virgil to the zoo to live,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage. “He is here only to visit Violet, and she is only here on sufferance of her father’s agreement.”

  “She is not here on sufferance of Mr. Jones,” the zoo keeper said, looking annoyed. He pulled a cloth from the pockets of his worn tweed pants and wiped his hands with it. “She is here by the permission of Director Campbell of the American Museum of Natural History, who owns all twelve of the dragon eggs. Including the one he hatched from.”

  The man jabbed his finger in the direction of the dragon cage, where Henry was lifting Virgil up to the bars so that he could watch Violet’s tail swishing back and forth.

  Heat swept across Rose’s face in burning fury. That was a sore subject, one that she and Henry never mentioned, but which haunted her dreams at night. At any time, the director of the museum could take their son away, and they would have no legal recourse to get him back.

  Which is wrong, Rose thought, her fists tightening. Dragons are people, and people should not be legally held as property. There was a war to that effect last century!

  She had a long-term goal for Virgil, though she had not spoken of it to anyone. She would see to it that he would be legally recognized and given all the same rights as a human. He had been born into a world in which dragons were extinct, but she would not allow that to rob him of the rights he would have had if he had hatched in the Cretaceous Period.

  Further reaching than that, she had a goal to see Deinonychus antirrhopus make a resurgence as a species. That was one of the reasons Rose had wanted Virgil to get to know Violet: she might well be the only female of his species he would have the opportunity to meet.

  Rose could not force the two to marry, of course, nor would she wish to. But she could certainly see to it that they knew each other very well by the time they were adults.

  Of course, seeing as they were both hatchlings right now, that sort of thinking was highly premature. But Rose had never been one to disregard the far future in her planning. She had decided at nine years old that she would become a paleontologist, and she had not changed her mind since.

  The only thing that Virgil had changed was that, where once she had had one goal, now she had three.

  Rose continued to stare at the zoo keeper in frosty silence.

  The man looked a trifle uncomfortable. He moved away from her to walk over to Violet’s cage, where a crowd of onlookers had been gathering.

  “Can I pet the dragon, too?” a woman asked eagerly, crowding in and reaching out her hand.

  “Didn’t know there was more than one,” a man said.

  “Of course there is, didn’t you read the news?” another man said impatiently. “This is the man who studies dragons and is raising one.”

  Rose’s chest swelled with indignation. I’M the one who’s studying paleontology, not Henry!

  “No,” Henry said, swatting the reaching hands away. “No, you can’t pet him. No. No. No. Stop it!”

  Virgil’s claws dug into the front of Henry’s shirt. He didn’t like these hands. These hands were scary. He would make these hands go away.

  Virgil started making snorting noises.

  “Get back!” Henry shouted. “Get back right now!”

  The crowd parted as he shoved them, and Virgil let loose a tiny spark. It danced briefly in the air, then disappeared.

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

  Virgil’s tail wriggled as his head turned to face Violet.

  Why
was Violet sleeping? Virgil didn’t want her to be sleeping. Virgil wanted her to wake up. He would wake her up with one of her memories she had shared with him.

  “No!” Rose shouted, but she was too late.

  A vision of terror and desolation gripped her mind. Her parents were gone. All the adults were gone. Only the eggs remained, screaming and screaming with nobody coming to claim them. No one would ever claim them. They would never hatch. She would never hatch. There was absolute despair.

  Rose sucked in her breath as she returned to herself, and the tiny blue dragon within the cage twitched. Her eyes opened. Her claws scrambled against the cement beneath her. Then she opened her mouth and screamed.

  The crowd shouted and covered their ears as the high-pitched shriek reverberated endlessly, and loudly.

  Virgil was glad Violet had woken up! Now they could play together!

  The terrible scream stopped.

  The little blue dragon looked up. Piteousness emanated from her.

  Was Violet not alone now? Had Violet just been dreaming?

  Henry rapped Virgil sharply on the nose. “You do not wake people up by giving them nightmares! That is not acceptable!”

  Virgil was sorry. Virgil hadn’t meant to make Violet sad.

  Violet was better. Violet was sleepy. Violet was tired. Maybe Violet would sleep again.

  Virgil didn’t want her to sleep. Virgil wanted her to wake up.

  The little blue dragon’s head drooped, and her tail curled back around her again.

  No! Virgil would wake her up again, so she would play. No! Why was his father walking away? Violet should play!

  “This was a bad idea,” Henry said, walking over to Rose. “We can go somewhere else to ask for advice.”

  Where? Rose wondered.

  But she didn’t object. Henry was right. She should not have expected help to be forthcoming here.

  Their son’s tail writhed as they tucked him back into the pram.

  Virgil was very upset! Violet should play!