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“Tell me this, at least.” She tilts her head. “Thanksgiving’s all about giving thanks. . .and eating food. So to prepare for tomorrow, I need to know what you eat.”
“I told you. I eat what you do.”
“Not you, as in Axel,” she says. “You, as in the blessed. The first Thanksgiving, the locals brought lots of new foods to the pilgrims that they’d never had before. They shared what they ate. So we’ll make the things we always eat. Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce, if we can find any. But what things do you usually eat?”
“It’s not really?—”
Liz frowns. “Please tell me it’s not grubs. I know Gordon likes them, but there aren’t enough grubs on earth to feed all of you.”
“Liz.”
“Or—what did I see Rufus eating last week? It looked an awful lot like a skunk, and it smelled, but I’m pretty sure that no one likes to eat skunks.”
“Liz.”
“No matter how weird it is, I promise we’ll try to be understanding. But please, please, don’t say it’s humans.” She scrunches up her nose.
“We don’t usually choose to eat humans,” I say, “but the earth blessed will eat a whole variety of things. Some love fish. Some eat cows. Some love fruits and vegetables. All of the blessed derive substances we need to survive from gases in Earth’s atmosphere, mixed with our own magic, which is also plentiful in certain places here on Earth. But we all require some additional fuel, and. . .” I’m still worried about her reaction, given what I have discovered about human eating patterns.
“You know, come to think of it, I’ve asked you this before, more than once.” She narrows her eyes. “Out with it. What weird thing do you eat, and why don’t you want to tell me about it?”
“Shortly after we left Earth, the strike blessed, the water blessed, and the flame blessed began to develop special dietary needs.”
Liz frowns. “What does that mean?”
“The earth blessed can tolerate most any organic material, and even some inorganic. But the rest of us can only consume one main thing, or we become quite ill.”
“Just say it,” Liz says. “Because I’m kind of freaking out now. It can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”
“There’s a reason we brought so many earth blessed with us,” I say. “The water, strike, and flame blessed can only consume other blessed, and they mostly eat the earth blessed.”
7
Liz
I’ve called Axel the Prince of the Rat Dragons. I’ve also said he was the Prince of the Mud Dragons. I’ve said lots of things in humor—poking fun at him. I did all that because I’d seen him. Sure, he didn’t have wings, but he was a stunningly beautiful, powerful dragon prince who commanded thousands of gorgeous creatures who could destroy tanks. It never occurred to me that. . .
I was sort of dead-on with all my taunts.
He’s literally the Prince of the Cow Dragons.
The other dragons eat the earth dragons.
They EAT them.
It’s horrifying.
No wonder the strike blessed and the water blessed treat them so badly—they must feel pretty guilty to be eating other creatures just like themselves.
“Oh, no.” I groan. “I stood up back there and told them that Sammy would continue to be protected by. . .Gordon? And he’s, like. . . He’s fodder.” I feel sick.
“It’s not quite like that.” Axel starts to walk away, but I’m not done talking about this yet.
I leap toward him, grabbing at his hand to try and stop him. My fingers catch his wrist, but the momentum pulls me into step beside him. As if the movement was the most natural thing ever, our fingers slide past one another, and our hands interlock.
My move would have made any teenage boy proud, that’s for sure. It should come with a free soda and extra-large popcorn. Only, I’m not a teenage boy with sweaty palms and raging hormones. I’m an adult who should not be making heart eyes at the horrible Cow Dragon Prince beside me.
I snatch my hand back, and Axel stops walking. Then he does an about face to stare at me. “I have some things to explain, unless you’re planning to yell at me again.”
