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Chapter 1
Miranda
Ilookintothebeast’s benevolent eyes, which are roughly the size of my head, and pity him. Teardrops the size of my fist fill them as he tries to pull his horned head into his multicolored and domed shell, dark green with flecks of orange, red, and white, in an attempt to hide from me. The red hair framing his green head is fluffed out like he just stuck his tongue in an electrical outlet. His nostrils flare wildly. Fear is not the emotion I would expect to elicit from a monster roughly the size of my house, yet here we are.
He is as disoriented by the current situation as I am. The fact that dragon turtles originated in China isn’t what has me confused. Over the last six months, I’ve learned no matter where people create or most widely believe in a creature, that critter can still turn up here, in the good ol’ U.S. of A.
What is baffling, to both my current rival and myself, is heshouldbe hanging out in a large body of water, not wandering around the fourth floor of a science museum, browsing the fish tanks of the Hudson Bay exhibit like he’s wandering through the grocery store deli. And if this dragon turtle and his family are anything like goldfish, based on his size this particular dude came from averylarge body of water.
“Hey, Buddy,” I call to him sweetly, similarly to how I talk to Sammy in fact, “Can I call you DT? Let’s see if we can get you back home, okay?”
The whine he responds with is somewhere between a whale’s song and the chatter of the triceratops at the theme park we took the kids to last summer. The long moan comes to me on a stream of foul breath that smells like the fish he slurped from the tanks. Thankfully that snack of his kept him busy long enough to give the security guard the opportunity to track down who, or what, had triggered his alarms.
No one knows why the dragon turtle is here in the first place. And by “no one”, I mean the League of Docents (think, council of men in charge of my life as the Guardian even though they are completely out of touch with the realities this life comes with), the security guard on their payroll, George, and myself. (I recently learned that the League of Docents runs all of the biggest security companies in the tri-state area for just such an occasion as this.) Luckily, as of now, we’re the only ones who know about this big fella.
But that luck is going to change if I can’t get him over to the Hudson River soon, before tourists, science enthusiasts, and buses of school kids start to fill the parking lot I have to get him through.
But first, I have to get himtothat parking lot.
I look at the big chunk of pyrite, “fool’s gold,” the security guard grabbed from the mineral exhibit for me when I told him I’d need some kind of treasure. Hopefully it will fool my new friend– dragon turtles are, after all, dragons, and dragons love treasure.
It’s slow going to get the beast to follow me to the stairs–there’s no fucking way I’m getting in an elevator with him. He has to be over the weight limit, if he’s even fit inside. He plods along, I think happily, at least if his tail is any indication. He takes up so much of the room that when his tail swishes from side to side it crashes into the fish tanks, leaving dusty white patches and cracks in the glass in its wake. I’m impressed by how gracefully he slides down the staircase, not to mention the fact he even canfiton the staircase.
As we approach the third-floor landing, I know I have to keep him on target so he doesn’t wander over to the “Wild About Animals” exhibit and accidentally break something loose. I shudder thinking about Sammy’s fascination with the hissing cockroaches and how badly Natalie wanted to bring home a naked mole-rat. Weirdoes...
Once we hit the second floor, I have to lure him around a corner and down a short hallway. His full attention is on me until the giant breathing ball hanging over the stairs we need to descend. The silver sphere is made up of thousands of scissor-like hinges, opening and closing to expand and contract the ball rhythmically. I don’t know if it’s the shiny metal or the movement, but DT is mesmerized. He sits down, staring at the ball as it grows and shrinks and grows and shrinks, a lopsided goofy grin on his face. I run down to the gift shop and grab a bar of gold the size of my forearm and way faker than even the pyrite I’ve been using as a lure so far.
But fake or not, my new souvenir gets his attention. He closes his mouth and tilts his head. He looks like a puppy who is totally focused on the juicy treat his owner is coaxing him with. Of course, this puppy is green and the size of a tractor-trailer.
With more speed than a creature of his size should be capable of, he pushes himself to his feet and begins charging down the stairs. Thankfully, the main entrance is right behind me so I turn and run as fast as I can.
I push through the double doors, entering into the all-glass hallway we need to navigate to get outside. I’ve always loved the trippy effect the incandescent bulbs set in the dark ceiling above make when they hit the reflective metal strips across the floor, but I have no time for that admiration today. I can’t forget that I’m on a mission. And if Icouldsomehow forget, then the crash of glass shattering as my pursuer follows me into the fragile vestibule would certainly remind me.
I run through the second set of double doors, my eyes scrunching shut against my will. It’s a lot a brighter out here than it was when I arrived in the wee hours of the morning. I forgot my watch as I stumbled out of bed when George called, so I don’t know the exact time, but when I got here the sun was only peaking over the horizon.
Shit. I really hope Jake was able to get everyone up and ready for school on time. He’s never had to do that alone before. Does he even know whose lunch box is whose? Focus, Miranda! I look around frantically as I keep running at a pace I know I cannot sustain much longer. What am I going to do with this thing? Facing off with demons and monsters that I can fight and kill is, in a way, a lot easier than dealing with this guy. But I’m a protector, the Guardian, and that means my job isn’t simply “kill everything.” I need to protect humans, and sometimes that lines up with protecting a mythological creature, even if only from himself.
He’s not trying to hurt anyone. He’s just giant and clumsy. And really fucking terrifying to behold. Behold? Where’d I pull that one from? I am grateful for the brief but sage advice George gave me when he called at four in the morning to tell me I was needed.
I believe his exact words were, “It’s a dragon turtle. They’re a little scary looking, but they’re good guys. Try to remember that. Don’t kill him! They originated as good luck charms.”
Sure they are. This guy definitely compares to the rabbit foot I kept on my backpack in second grade. That is, before I found out it had once belonged to an actual rabbit and threw up.
I glance behind DT to the pile of glass shards that was formerly the bridge between the real world and that magical place of science. I really hope I don’t have to pay for that. But then I remember, George can probably afford it, and he definitely owes me for waking me up so early today, so I breathe a little easier for a moment.
But it’s only for a moment. Because now that we have cleared the solar-panel-covered parking lot, I can see just how far I still have to lead him before we reach the water’s edge. At least, in the direction I was planning to go. I stare at the immense park, so thick with trees I can’t even see the playground that I know is on the other side. And all of it lay between us and the bay. I would have to lead this thing a solid three-quarters of a mile through a dense grove if I steered it in that direction. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
From all our lunches on the terrace outside the museum restaurant I know the piers are up the road to my left. I turn back to the creature, once again considering his size. Can he get around the boats docked there without damaging them, or attracting too much attention? I think this particular marina is mainly private sailboats and therefore I would think the area is pretty desolate this time of weekday. I don’t have time to give my limited options any more consideration, so I start running to the left.
I turn back to my colossal adversary and wave the fake gold bar in the air.
We’ve halved the distance to the piers, and I know chances are there will be other people there when we arrive. Oh well. Still less attention than if I had to march him across Liberty State Park. Something tells me we couldn’t pass for a girl walking her Great Dane.
The closer we get to the water, the longer the distance between him and me becomes. He’s slowing down. Come on, Buddy. I stop, not wanting to lose his interest completely.
“Hey, what’s up big guy? Don’t you want to go back to your home in the water?”
Again, his sad roar reaches me. He squints his giant black eyes closed and shakes his head, the way an enormous dog would shake away water droplets from its ears. His neat little orange beard shakes open, ruffling his tidy tuft. He ducks his head low and looks up at me, a ginormous puppy cowering. He lets out a high-pitched whine.
