Monster in My Closet (6 page)

It smelled the offered fingers, then stuck out a forked tongue and licked me, leaving my skin feeling hot and oddly dry. I patted its head, which radiated heat. The unhappy little thing tilted its head to the side and closed its eyes while I scratched the ridge between its ears. The purring sound it made was much like a cat’s, until it was interrupted by another sneeze that scorched a hole right through my favorite comfy sweats.

I patted its head again and stood up. “Okay, buddy. You stay here and rest. We’ll get you all fixed up.” Empty promise, that. I had no idea what I was doing.

Maurice met me at the door. I shoved the box of furniture at him. “These are kind of dirty from being in storage, but they should clean up fine. Did you know about the dragon?”

“Dragon?” He shifted the box in his arms and looked confused.

Ha! Finally, I was one up on him. “There is what appears to be a small, pink dragon in the garage. Sneezing. And spraying snot sparks. Probably a fire hazard. Are dragons supposed to be hot?”

“Dragon?” His expression had gone from confused to blank.

“Maurice, I need you to focus here. If you don’t know anything about dragons, find somebody who does. I have to make a phone call. Could you maybe get him some water or something? Please?”

I left him standing in the open doorway juggling a dusty box and looking out the door toward the garage. In the kitchen, I dug through my bag-o-crap and found my phone and a scrap of paper with a number on it. I needed help.

On the second ring, a cheery voice answered.

“Andrew, this is Zoey.”

“Zoey, hey. How’s the head?”

“Perfect. You’re a miracle man.”

“Glad I could help. What’s up?”

“I need more miracles.” I felt bad calling him for help, but he was the only one I knew who not only had mad herbal skills, but wasn’t as likely to think I was out of my mind. I ran through my morning, beginning with the surprising brownie family and ending with the unbelievable dragon. To his credit, he didn’t laugh at all. In fact, he was all business.

“I’ll pack up some supplies and we’ll be right there. Find out what you can about dragons and we’ll see what we’ve got. Milo’s been pining for you ever since you left the store.”

I thanked him profusely and gave him directions. I had a strong suspicion a psychic herbalist on retainer was going to make my life a lot easier in the future.

* * *

As it turned out, brownies know a whole lot about dragons.

While I waited for Andrew and Milo, I helped Maurice clean up the Barbie furniture and move it into the closet. I padded the beds with fabric samples and washcloths, set up a table and chairs, and ran an extension cord into the closet to give them a light. The setup was pink, and it was mostly plastic, but it worked. Molly put Abby down for a nap and came to the edge of the shelf to talk to me.

“You are too kind to us,” she said.

“I’m sorry it’s not more.” I looked at the cut on her head and her swollen eye. “I have a friend coming who can help with that. You can trust him. If you don’t mind, I’d like him to look at Fred’s arm, too.”

Poor Molly’s good eye filmed over with tears. “Again, thank you.”

We spoke in low voices so Abby could sleep. When I told Molly about the dragon in the garage, her face scrunched up with worry.

“No, they are not supposed to be hot on the outside,” she said. “You must cool him off. His furnace must be broken inside. You do not want him to blow up.”

Chapter Six

Halfway up my driveway, Andrew’s battered Pontiac sputtered and died. From my vantage point on the porch, I could hear the starter click-click as he turned the key in the ignition several times. Nothing. He smiled and waved at me from behind the wheel, then reached for the door handle to get out. Again, nothing. He shoved his shoulder against the door a few times, then reached across and tried to open the passenger door. His cheery smile was beginning to fade, and his face had turned an interesting berry shade. From the backseat, Milo’s head popped in and out of sight, his excited barking a faint squeal from within the sealed car.

“Maurice!” I yelled into the house.

The monster came flying down the front steps in a rush. “Sorry, sorry!”

He disappeared around the corner of the house, muttering under his breath. A moment later, both of Andrew’s doors flew open, and he spilled onto the gravel. Milo exploded through the open door, bounced off Andrew’s prone figure, and darted toward me like he’d been shot from a blowgun. The fluffy blur came so fast I didn’t have time to do more than hold my arms out before it launched into the air and plowed into my chest, knocking me back a step. My face was promptly covered in foxy kisses. I laughed and let him do his worst.

Andrew pulled himself together and made his way up the steps.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “Fairy Homeland Security didn’t get your clearance.”

“No worries,” he said, brushing himself off. “But one of these days maybe I’ll be able to say hello to you before doing a supernatural cha-cha first.” He gave me a quick hug over a happily squirming Milo. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, actually. Maybe shock will set in soon, but I think enough weirdness has happened that I’m getting used to it. You don’t seem shaken at all.”

“I’m unshakeable, doll. Besides, I get to go home afterwards. You’re the one living in Storybook Land.”

Maurice came around the corner, saw Andrew and ducked his head. He tried to get past us without drawing attention, but he was a little hard to miss.

“Hey, wait,” I said. I waved my hand back and forth between them. “Andrew, Maurice. Maurice, Andrew.”

Maurice lifted his head for a second, then ducked down again, mumbling. Undaunted, Andrew stuck his hand out.

“Nice to finally meet you, Maurice.”

Maurice stared at the hand for a few ticks before shaking it with a delicate grip. “Nicetomeetyou,” he said, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. He released Andrew’s hand and disappeared into the house.

I watched him go, my eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Well, that was weird. He’s usually so…outgoing. “

Andrew’s face was thoughtful. “I used to date a guy like that. He was friendly as hell until somebody he didn’t know showed up. Then he’d clam up and wouldn’t talk to anyone. Maurice will come around. You’ll see. I’m too damn charming for him to resist me for long.” He winked.

I looked Andrew up and down, a little surprised. I took in the yellow Polo shirt and creased designer jeans, the tone of his voice, the jewelry he was wearing. Ah. Of course. I snickered. “How the hell did you get past my gay-dar?”

He grinned. “You’ve been a little busy. It’s not like I introduce myself that way.”

“Well, no, but I’m glad I’ve been too preoccupied to start checking out your ass or dangling my cleavage at you. That would be humiliating.”

“It’s okay.” He turned around, facing the driveway, hands on his hips. “Go ahead. Check out my ass.” He looked over his shoulder at me, waiting.

I shook my head and snorted. “Yes. Very nice. You could bounce a quarter off that baby.”

* * *

I was unsurprised by Andrew’s steady hands and gentle treatment of the brownie family. What I didn’t expect was how quickly they took to him. He spoke with a slow, calming voice and checked their tiny bodies for bruises and scrapes. Aaron and Abby appeared to have escaped physically unscathed. Molly had cleaned up, and without the dried blood, was in much better shape than I had thought. Fred posed a problem. Not only was Andrew not a doctor, he didn’t have a mini x-ray machine on him to determine the extent of Fred’s injuries. After scrutinizing the color of Fred’s arm and making him move his fingertips and shoulder, Andrew decided to immobilize it with a scrap of cloth as a tiny sling.

“Keep an eye on it, Molly,” he said. “If any part of it changes color, or if he doesn’t improve, call me and I’ll come right back.”

Molly looked at her oldest son and frowned in worry. “Tell him to keep it in the sling. If you do not specifically say it, he will forget. On purpose.”

Andrew laughed and looked at Fred. “Don’t move it until I come back and tell you to take off the sling. Deal?”

“Deal.” Fred looked miserable. Injured pride was the emotion I was getting, not self-pity. I had the strong feeling that Fred was accustomed to taking care of his family.

I followed Andrew to the kitchen and watched as he ground up a variety of pungent-smelling, mysterious herbs, liquids and greasy stuff.

He made tea and poured it into a shot glass for them to dip their tiny Barbie cups into, then slathered two kinds of mystery goo on little Pepto-pink plates. I made a face as I helped him pile the smelly load on a small tray.

“I thought Christmas Sweat Sock tea was nasty,” I said.

Standing outside the closet, Andrew explained each item. Fred and Molly were to drink the tea for pain and for stress. The goopy stuff was a poultice, though I was clueless as to what that meant. I hadn’t seen any chicken parts go into it, so
poultry
and
poultice
must be unrelated. I, apparently, was an idiot. The brownies knew exactly what to do with the gunk.

The one with all the leafiness to it was patted along Fred’s possibly-broken arm.

“It should reduce swelling, and if bones are broken, it’ll help them knit faster,” Andrew said. He tied the tiny sling in place and gave Fred a cheery smile. “Better in no time, Fred.”

Molly’s goop was a little more delicate to apply. Andrew enlisted Aaron’s tiny hands to help smear it over her black eye and along her hairline where she’d been cut.

“Now,” Andrew said, “let’s take a look at my first dragon.”

Without warning, Molly let out a series of yippy barks that bore an eerie similarity to the sound of a fennec fox, then made a flying leap off the ledge of the linen closet shelf. I didn’t have time to react. My heart felt like it blew a valve in that single second. She did a little somersault midair and landed neatly on Milo’s back at my feet. After grabbing a double handful of fur, she barked once. Milo answered and trotted off toward the front door.

Andrew and I exchanged alarmed expressions and tore after them.

When we reached the back corner of the garage, I was a little out of breath. Maybe those trips to the gym with Sara shouldn’t be such a low priority after this. If I ever had time.

Molly was tsk-tsk-ing from astride her mount.

“You did not say he was pink. This is not good. Who ever heard of a pink dragon?”

Andrew and I agreed that we had not, up until today, seen or heard of a pink dragon.

The brownie woman made a series of snorting sounds which were returned by the miserable dragon, punctuated by sneeze-induced sparklers.

“We must cool him off,” she said. “Inside and out. And he is very hungry.”

“I’m on it,” I said. I ran into the house and yanked bowls out of the kitchen cupboards. “Maurice!” I hadn’t seen him since Andrew had arrived. That was odd. Still, whatever his sudden bout of shyness was about, he was at my elbow within seconds.

“I’m here,” he said.

“Where did you go? Never mind. I need towels. Will you grab some out of the linen closet and bring them to the sink, please?”

He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. I dumped every ice cube in my freezer into one of the bowls, congratulating myself for getting a fridge with a sizeable ice maker. In another bowl I piled every bit of frozen meat I could find. Chicken, fish, hamburger, steak. I was a little sad about the steaks. They had been on special, and I’d been so pleased with myself about getting such a good deal on an expensive cut. I shrugged. The universe had given me a deal on dragon feed.

Maurice brought in a stack of towels and set them on the counter.

“The steak, too?” he said. “You have to be kidding me. That was going to be tomorrow night’s dinner.” He looked pouty.

“I’ll get you more steak. Don’t be stingy.” I sorted the towels, grabbing a few of my favorites and setting them aside. I didn’t know if wet towels on a hot dragon would disintegrate on contact.

The rest I threw into the sink and ran under the faucet. Without wringing them out, I dumped them into my monster-sized popcorn bowl.

“We’re set. Can you help me get it all out there?”

Maurice looked a little ashen. Well, compared to his normal ashen complexion.

“He won’t bite,” I said. I shoved the bowl of sopping towels into his arms. “I promise. He saved my life, remember? He’s a good guy.”

“But.” Maurice’s bottom lip quivered. “But he’s human.”

“I’m human. My mother was human. What’s the problem?”

“You’re special. Regular humans aren’t supposed to see the Hidden.”

“Trust me. Andrew’s special, too.” I gave him an encouraging smile and walked out, hoping he’d follow. I did not have time to hold a closet monster’s hand. I was terrified a baby dragon was going to spontaneously combust in my garage.

Between the metal bowl of ice cubes and the plastic bowl of frozen, packaged meat, my teeth were chattering by the time I got back into the garage. Andrew took the ice from me and knelt down next to the dragon.

“Hey, handsome. How about something cold to chomp on with those wicked teeth of yours?” He held a chunk in the palm of his hand and offered it like a sugar cube to a horse. The dragon sniffed at it, slithered out a forked tongue, then grabbed the ice with his lips, exactly like a horse. He crunched it once and swallowed. Steam blew out his nostrils in twin streams.

The sneeze that followed bounced sparks off Andrew’s palm. I jumped. Andrew held firm.

While Andrew continued to feed ice to the dragon, I looked around for Maurice. My foot kicked the bowl of towels, and water sloshed over the edge, drenching my new Skechers. I finally spotted Maurice in the corner, his enormous eyes shining from the shadows. His issues would have to wait. A sick dragon had to take precedence over a closet monster with social anxiety disorder. One problem at a time.

I pulled a sopping towel from the bowl and draped it across the dragon’s back. He shivered, and a blanket of steam rose from the ridge along his spine. Within minutes, the towel was dry and crisp. If I were the type to iron my linens, this is the way I would do it. I pulled the towel off and replaced it with another wet one. By the third application of wet towel, half the ice was gone and the dragon was a little less pink than he had been.

I scratched his head. “Poor baby,” I said. “Where’s your mama?” That thought made me nauseous. “Oh my God. What if his mother comes looking for him?”

Molly laughed. “He is not a baby. Do not be ridiculous.”

“But he’s so small.”

“He is a pygmy dragon. They do not come much bigger these days. It is hard enough for someone my size to hide from humanity.”

She had a point. There was so much I had to learn. I was woefully ignorant in the most basic folklore. And half of what I
had
read was wrong. Probably more than half. Why was there not an instruction manual for this?
Mystical Creatures and Urban Legends for Dummies
would come in handy right about now. Or maybe
Care and Feeding of Your New Hidden Horde
.

“Think he’s ready for some food?”

Molly exchanged a few grunts and snorts with the dragon. “Bruce is ready to eat.”

“Bruce?” The mundane aspects of the supernatural floored me more than the crazy stuff.

I clawed at the plastic wrapping on the frozen chicken and became frustrated quickly. I can never get them open without a sharp implement, and by the time I get one, I’m usually so irritated that I do damage to whatever is inside in my haste to stab at the problem.

A knife appeared as if I’d wished for it. Maurice had stepped out of his protective shadows to present it to me.

“Thought you might need this, so I brought it with me,” he said in a stage whisper. Or maybe, for a closet monster, that was a regular whisper. I was sure my missing
Dummies
book would have answered the question.

I poked at the plastic and sliced the package open. Holding a chicken leg between my fingers as delicately as possible, I offered it to Bruce.

“Here you go, buddy. I know it’s cold, but you need that right now.”

Bruce snarfed down the frozen chunk of flesh so fast I had trouble following it with my eyes. If it weren’t for the single, very loud
crunch
coming from his jaws before he swallowed, I might not have believed he’d gotten any of it.

Two packages of chicken, three sea bass (also on special), and all of the ground beef were gone before he started to slow. Maurice and I looked at each other with hopeful relief, but it was not to be. Bruce let out a long, rumbling burp and asked for more. With sadness in our hearts, we unwrapped the steaks and tossed them in with the rest of the contents of my freezer. So much for dinner.

On the bright side, it looked like it worked. Bruce let out a warm sigh, turned on his side so his distended belly would be more comfortable, and dozed off. He didn’t snore so much as gurgle in his sleep.

He wasn’t exactly cool to the touch, but he wasn’t hot either. And the snot-sparkler sneezes had tapered off.

“See?” Molly said. “Broken furnace in his belly. He should be better now. His color is much better.”

Bruce was now a brownish green with darker green spots—apparently the industry standard for adult pygmy dragons.

We all stood there watching him for a few minutes until it started to feel uncomfortable. Maurice resumed his spot in the shadows, and Molly made tiny braids in Milo’s hair. Andrew grimaced, still hunkered down on the garage floor.