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“I named you ‘Fancypants,’ and ‘Fancypants’ you shall be,” I said, starting to put the groceries away. “I’ll fix you lunch in a moment.”
Bran let out a laugh, then headed back out for the rest of the bags. As I finished the third bag, Bran returned with the last two. I tucked everything away in the fridge and cupboards, then took out some ground beef. “Fancypants, do you want your meat cooked or raw?”
“Either way.” He flew over to the counter and hovered above where I was working. “I’m not partial to either—at least not yet. But I do require food. You have no idea how taxing it is to hatch out of an egg.”
“Well, you’ve got me there. I definitely don’t have a clue about that. So, how much do you want?” I pointed to the pound of ground beef in front of me.
“Half of that, please,” he said, his eyes spiraling. They were mesmerizing—like white and blue pinwheels spinning in the wind.
At least he was polite, I thought as I placed half of the meat on a plate and set it on the counter. He dove into it, his neck twisting and bobbing like a snake’s. As he devoured the meal, I wondered again what I had gotten myself into.
After a moment, another thought struck me. “Is being bonded to a dragonette like having a familiar?”
May thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Somewhat. Though it’s a different form of connection, not necessarily based on the magic.”
I motioned for her to follow me into the living room while Fancypants was eating. Bran joined us. I sat in the rocking chair, while May sat on the sofa and Bran, an ottoman. I opened a window to let in the fresh air, and stared out into the yard. The flowers along the walkway looked beautiful, and I could see the herb garden beds from where I stood. My home was cozy and getting cozier, and I intended on keeping it that way.
“What happens if I want to get a cat or a dog? Will Fancypants attack them? Are dragonettes territorial?” It occurred to me that there was so much about this that I didn’t know, and I’d better learn damned fast. I turned back to May.
“Theyareterritorial, but primarily around others of their kind,” she answered. “No one has ever successfully bonded with two at one time, as far as I know. As for other pets, I think you’d be safe. You might have to lay down some ground rules, but once bonded, the dragonette has to abide by your wishes—at least to some degree. It’s not like a djinn. They aren’t bound to serve you in whatever you wish, regardless of how you treat them. Mistreat them, and they will fight back. But the witch is generally the one in control.”
I thought about Fancypants. Although he wasn’t turning out to be quite what I expected—I didn’t knowwhatI expected—I felt the connection. “Cansomeone who’s bonded to one mistreat them? I can’t imagine that.”
“Most people who are bonded couldn’t bring themselves to hurt their dragonette, not deliberately. The bond is too strong. But there are dark hearts in the world, as you well know, and as I mentioned, there are nefarious people who are so rich and powerful that they’ll pay a bounty hunter to find a dragonette egg. They try to force the bonding, but all it does is kill the dragonette. They are innately good creatures, and they cannot work with those who intend evil.”
I started to say something, but May held her finger to her lips as Fancypants came flying in. He landed on the coffee table and gave a delicate burp. Wisps of smoke flared from his nostrils. It was so freaking cute that I had to force myself not to laugh.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I asked. “Do you want anything else?”
“I’m good,” he said, bobbing his head as he let out a wide yawn. “Now, I must sleep.” And with that, he promptly curled up on a throw pillow and began to snore.
“That was quick,” I said.
“He’ll be out for hours,” May said. “For the first couple of months, after they eat they sleep long and hard as they get adjusted to life outside the egg. The naps will eventually grow shorter. You should find a good bed for him where he won’t be interrupted and where he won’t be in the way while he sleeps.”
“You think he’d like a dog bed?” I asked.
“A cushy cat bed would be better, or a cat tree—dragonettes like to be up high.”
“I feel like I adopted a flying cat who can talk,” I said. “Same attitude, same preferences.”
“Dragonettes get along well with cats. They understand each other,” May said. She turned to Bran. “Do you remember Melda?”
“Some,” he said. “She spied on me and told you when I wasn’t doing my homework. She also liked to steal your jewelry.”
“Oh, yes—I remember that,” May said. “That’s another thing to watch for. They’re like crows in that they’re attracted to shiny things. You might want to get Fancypants his own treasure box and give him trinkets now and then. That might prevent him from going for your jewelry and keys and whatever else catches his fancy.”
This was beginning to rack up the expenses. “Does it have to be real gold?”
“No, gold plate, silver, shiny jeweled glass…even aluminum will work, as long as it sparkles. If he were a full-sized dragon? You’d better hand over the real goods, but dragonettes aren’t as picky.”
Bran glanced at his watch. “I have to leave. I have a grange meeting in an hour or so. We’re discussing the upcoming Summer Shoreside Festival.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A street festival down by the farmers market that happens every July. It’s like the market on steroids, with artists joining in, and a couple of concerts, and some of the restaurants vend as well. There are competitions for the best preserves, pickles, and so on. Like an upscale country fair. The grange sponsors it and since I belong to the grange, I need to be there.” He kissed May on the cheek. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
“I’ll be over here, watching Fancypants,” she said. “I’ll leave you something to heat up.” She patted his cheek. Their connection was tangible, but although Bran obviously loved his mother, he wasn’t a mama’s boy and May seemed happy to let him lead his own life.
