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When I returned to the house I locked the door behind me. Then, turning on the light, I settled down at the desk in the living room to examine what I’d found.
The egg was just that—as far as I could tell. An egg. As I had first thought, it was about the size and shape of an ostrich egg, and now that I was inside, the color was more of a washed-out crimson with gold streaks.
“What bird lays eggs that look like this?” I couldn’t imagine how big the bird would have to be. I took a picture and uploaded it to FindPlease—a new search engine that also had a reverse image search. None of the results remotely came close to matching. I tried again, taking a picture from a different angle.
This time, two links appeared. I clicked on one, and it was a child’s drawing of a “baby dragon egg” on someone’s family website. The other was more promising. It was from a cryptozoology site and it, too, said that the egg they found was a dud, but when they opened it up, they found what looked like the remains of an in-utero dinosaur-type bird:
It’s thought that eggs like these may be the remains of a dragonette—one of the smallest members of the Drakon family, which includes dragons and dragon shifters. Dragonettes, unlike dragons, are the size of a large raven and they’re the only member of the Drakon family that deliberately seeks out the company of humans. It’s believed that dragonettes, like all members of the Drakon family, exist in an interdimensional state. When they’re born, they’re larva, but after a period of time, they spin a cocoon—basically the egg—and during their time in the egg, they fully mature. Like a butterfly breaking free of the chrysalis, they emerge fully aware and ready to live their life.
“Dragonettes? Seriously? It couldn’t be. Not here.” Though the egg on the screen looked similar to mine, I couldn’t believe that I had a dragonette egg in front of me.
I closed the laptop and turned my attention back to the egg. Placing my hands on the shell, lightly so as not to damage it, I closed my eyes.
Again the feeling of confusion and fear hit me. Worried for whatever was inside, I wondered if the mama—whatever she was—had wandered off and forgotten about her egg. She’d have to be pretty large to pop out an egg like this. There were no birds around here large enough to squeeze out something of this size. Or were there? I wrapped the egg back in my robe and then searched on “eagle eggs.” There were some pretty freaking huge eagles out there. But none popped out an egg the size of one sitting in front of me. A quick look at ostrich eggs placed the one I had found as slightly bigger than a large ostrich egg.
“So, unless we have an ostrich running around that lays odd-colored eggs, this is something completely different,” I said, leaning back. Maybe itwasa dragonette? But that still sounded so far-fetched to me.
It occurred to me that the egg was probably chillier than it had been in the nurse log, and I thought about tucking it into bed with me. But what if there was some sort of snake or spider or insect inside? I didn’t relish waking up in bed next to something creepy-crawly. I could tuck it near the woodstove, but I didn’t want to accidentally cook whatever was inside.
But what if I kept it wrapped in my robe? If it hatched, the material might hinder the baby…whatsit…when it tried to peck its way out of the shell. It also occurred to me that the baby would be hungry and—until I knew what it was—I wouldn’t have a clue what to have on hand to feed it.
“Well, I’ll have to do my best.” I emptied a drawer out of my dresser and lined it with towels. Then I loosely wrapped a pillowcase around the egg and put the drawer near enough the woodstove so that it would get reflected heat, but not close enough to roast. After that, I glanced at my phone. It was two-thirty, and I climbed back in bed, settling down as sleep once again closed over me.
* * *
With early morningcame a blanket of mist rolling along the ground. The clouds had rolled in during the latter half of the night, and the ground was wet. It must have poured after my late-night jaunt. A sprinkle of rain was still spitting from the sky. I turned on the pellet stove and then took a warm shower to wake myself up. It was early—seven-thirty—and I wasn’t sure why my body thought it needed to get up now, but awake I was.
As I lathered up with vanilla–musk shower gel, my thoughts drifted with my hands. It had been over a year since I lost Rian. I ran my hands lightly over my breasts, but all I could think of was how much I missed Rian’s touch. I missed his arms around me, his lips on mine. It had been so long since he’d touched me.
The few times I turned to the toys in my nightstand to relieve my hunger, I’d ended up sobbing when I came, the images of the Butcher torturing him filling my thoughts. To say I was pent-up was an understatement. So I dealt with the frustration and tried to keep myself busy.
I dressed in my leather jeans and a light long-sleeved top, then blow-dried my hair and put on my makeup.
My hair was down to my midback and a scarlet red, curving in gentle waves. I’d inherited the shade from my father’s side—he had been an immigrant from Scotland. My mother was a mixture of Scottish and Irish, and she was second-generation American. Both were magic-born, and my father had been a powerful witch—as powerful as my mother. I couldn’t remember much about him, though. He had died when I was barely five, and my mother had raised me on her own. But Da had left me a trust fund, and my mother had never touched it, although she had worked several jobs to keep us afloat.
I poured boiling water over my instant oatmeal and then flipped the switch on my espresso machine. It wasn’t fancy, but it made good espresso and I was happy with it. I added some maple syrup to my porridge and set it on the table, then knelt to check on the egg.
It was brighter in color than it had been the night before, and I could still sense whatever was inside it was still alive. I returned to the kitchen and made myself a steaming hot vanilla latte, then sat down to eat breakfast.
After breakfast, I texted May:can you come over to take a look at something for me? i found it in the middle of the night and i need your expert opinion. i’ll be home until around six, then i have to head out for an appointment.
Before I could reach for my latte, she texted back,sure. i’ll be there at around two. see you then.
I checked on the egg again, then glanced outside. The clouds were starting to lift and I could feel the rain moving out for now. By afternoon, it would be warm and partially cloudy. It was still early—around eight-thirty. I decided that today, I’d tackle building the raised beds and planting my herb garden. They were in planters near my workshop, but I wanted to create my raised herb beds before the season was up to make certain they had acclimated.
The lumber for the beds was stained and weatherproofed, stacked in the utility shed. I wasn’t an expert with a hammer and nails, but I figured I could manage a few squares on the ground. Then I’d fill the beds with soil and plant the herbs. To be honest, I had no real sense for how to efficiently build a raised bed, but it couldn’t be rocket science.
I had planned it out on paper—four squares with walkways between each, and I had used string to mark out where the four beds would be. I wasn’t clear on how to do it—but how hard could it be? Build a box without a bottom and fill it with soil. Easy, right?
After building the beds, I planned on paving the walkways between the containers with slate, like the sidewalks. The herb garden would be close to the house, as well as a raised bed for a kitchen garden. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to plant—I wasn’t a farmer, after all. But I wanted enough tomatoes to make growing a garden worth it, along with some greens, cucumbers, carrots, and if I was lucky, a couple pumpkins and watermelons.
I dragged the planks out of the utility shed, one by one, to the area where I was planning on building the beds. Then I brought out the toolbox and the hoe. As I began to dig a trench along the line of the string, I heard someone say, “Hello.”
Turning, I saw a tall blond man crossing the line from the trailhead leading to May’s house. He was fit, wearing a loose tank top, cargo shorts, and a pair of Birkenstocks. His hair flowed down to his shoulders, and he flashed me a good-natured smile.
I took off my gardening gloves and set down my hoe. “Hi. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Bran, May’s son. I thought I’d come introduce myself since we haven’t had the chance to meet yet.”
