Broken Dragon (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 3) Read Online Free
Author: D.W. Moneypenny
Tags: Contemporary Fantasy
right.”
“So? What can I do to help?” he said, rubbing his hands.
Liz looked up to some aluminum ducts suspended from the ceiling between the light fixtures. “Can you turn down the heat and crank up the fans so that the air circulates in here? I need the air to move around. It doesn’t need to be windy, but something on the order of a draft would be ideal.”
Reuben nodded, ran to the other side of the door and fiddled with some knobs on a panel mounted on the wall. Soon a whoosh shook through the ducts with a rattle, and Liz felt a few strands of gray hair tickle her forehead. She brushed it back and said, “That’s good, like that.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder and added, “Now get lost.”
“You understand that I would not allow any other employee to talk to me that way,” he said, mock sternness in his voice.
“That’s because you don’t have any other employee who can do what I can do,” Liz said. “Now leave me be for about a half hour.”
“Would it be possible for me to stay and watch? If I can learn your techniques, perhaps I would not need your help in the future.”
“You already promised you would never ask me to do this again.”
“Why would I need to, if you show me how to do it myself?”
Liz shook her head. “Not gonna happen. This isn’t something I can teach, so vacate the premises, or get on the phone and start making apologies to your poinsettia clients.”
“Fine, I’ll go. I need to run over to the Christmas tree farm anyway. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” He spun on a heel and walked out.
There was no lock on the door, so Liz looked around for a way to secure it, just in case someone happened by or if Reuben decided to return before it was suitable. She spotted a spool of nylon twine used to secure plants and picked up a small knife nearby. After cutting a length, she tied it into a loop and returned to the door, where she placed one end of the encircled twine over the handle. She pulled a small spade off a wall peg embedded to the left of the door and hung the other end of the loop over the peg. Someone would not be able to enter without a lot of effort.
Feeling more secure, she turned toward the interior of the greenhouse, sighing as she looked at the rows of wilted poinsettias. She walked several feet into the center row and bent down to a shriveled red bract—the specialized leaves that many mistook for poinsettia flower petals—and rubbed it between two fingers. I need to hurry .
Straightening, she slipped off her jacket and laid it alongside a pallet. Rolling up her sleeves, she unbuttoned two buttons at the top of her blouse. Bending down again, she rolled up her pants legs to just below the knees and kicked off her shoes. After removing her socks, a shiver ran up her spine when she placed her bare feet on the cool dirt floor.
Taking a last look at the dying foliage, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. The musty sweet smell of fall, of decomposing leaves and fertile soil filled her. She felt a cascade of warmth flow through her as she raised her arms, palms up. A sheen of moisture broke out across her brow, and she exhaled audibly. Her pores opened, creating a rash of raised pink dots on her skin that disgorged a thick oily liquid. It did not bead, like sweat, but flowed over her body, like a spring pushing water from beneath the earth, overflowing, coating her skin and soaking her clothes.
Liz sighed again, and the oily residue coagulated, then clotted. It became gelatinous. The gelatin grew cloudy, making her body and clothing appear frosted, coated with a crystalline icing. She stiffened, constricted every muscle in her frame, trembling with the effort. A groan slipped from her coated lips.
And then she blossomed.
Millions of thin white stems burst from the frosting on her skin and clothing, so dense it looked like fur.
Liz inhaled and held her breath, her covered cheeks bulging outward.
The stems exploded.
Tufts
“So? What can I do to help?” he said, rubbing his hands.
Liz looked up to some aluminum ducts suspended from the ceiling between the light fixtures. “Can you turn down the heat and crank up the fans so that the air circulates in here? I need the air to move around. It doesn’t need to be windy, but something on the order of a draft would be ideal.”
Reuben nodded, ran to the other side of the door and fiddled with some knobs on a panel mounted on the wall. Soon a whoosh shook through the ducts with a rattle, and Liz felt a few strands of gray hair tickle her forehead. She brushed it back and said, “That’s good, like that.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder and added, “Now get lost.”
“You understand that I would not allow any other employee to talk to me that way,” he said, mock sternness in his voice.
“That’s because you don’t have any other employee who can do what I can do,” Liz said. “Now leave me be for about a half hour.”
“Would it be possible for me to stay and watch? If I can learn your techniques, perhaps I would not need your help in the future.”
“You already promised you would never ask me to do this again.”
“Why would I need to, if you show me how to do it myself?”
Liz shook her head. “Not gonna happen. This isn’t something I can teach, so vacate the premises, or get on the phone and start making apologies to your poinsettia clients.”
“Fine, I’ll go. I need to run over to the Christmas tree farm anyway. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” He spun on a heel and walked out.
There was no lock on the door, so Liz looked around for a way to secure it, just in case someone happened by or if Reuben decided to return before it was suitable. She spotted a spool of nylon twine used to secure plants and picked up a small knife nearby. After cutting a length, she tied it into a loop and returned to the door, where she placed one end of the encircled twine over the handle. She pulled a small spade off a wall peg embedded to the left of the door and hung the other end of the loop over the peg. Someone would not be able to enter without a lot of effort.
Feeling more secure, she turned toward the interior of the greenhouse, sighing as she looked at the rows of wilted poinsettias. She walked several feet into the center row and bent down to a shriveled red bract—the specialized leaves that many mistook for poinsettia flower petals—and rubbed it between two fingers. I need to hurry .
Straightening, she slipped off her jacket and laid it alongside a pallet. Rolling up her sleeves, she unbuttoned two buttons at the top of her blouse. Bending down again, she rolled up her pants legs to just below the knees and kicked off her shoes. After removing her socks, a shiver ran up her spine when she placed her bare feet on the cool dirt floor.
Taking a last look at the dying foliage, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. The musty sweet smell of fall, of decomposing leaves and fertile soil filled her. She felt a cascade of warmth flow through her as she raised her arms, palms up. A sheen of moisture broke out across her brow, and she exhaled audibly. Her pores opened, creating a rash of raised pink dots on her skin that disgorged a thick oily liquid. It did not bead, like sweat, but flowed over her body, like a spring pushing water from beneath the earth, overflowing, coating her skin and soaking her clothes.
Liz sighed again, and the oily residue coagulated, then clotted. It became gelatinous. The gelatin grew cloudy, making her body and clothing appear frosted, coated with a crystalline icing. She stiffened, constricted every muscle in her frame, trembling with the effort. A groan slipped from her coated lips.
And then she blossomed.
Millions of thin white stems burst from the frosting on her skin and clothing, so dense it looked like fur.
Liz inhaled and held her breath, her covered cheeks bulging outward.
The stems exploded.
Tufts
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