Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (14 page)

The dragons were hiding.

It was the only explanation. It wasn't as if Troy and Helen had been expecting the great winged beasts to come up to the Chimera and ask to be petted on the snout, but they had been expecting some sign of the great beasts. They drove through the thick woods with nary a wing or tail in sight and hearing only the predictable sounds of nature. Birdsong and insect chirping and an occasional owl hoot. Even before dusk fell, the woods beyond the road were dark and forbidding, so maybe the owls didn't know when day ended and night began. Maybe they lived in a perpetual night, a virtual owl paradise. Or possibly an owl hell, a never-ending darkness where the sun never shone to tell them it was cool to catch a few winks.

But dragons…there were none.

The forest's branches stretched overhead. Its thick canopy obscured the darkening sky. When it finally cleared, the silhouettes slipping across the stars belonged to clouds, not dragons.

A shriek would've been nice. Or a howl. Or something large knocking down a tree just out of sight. Anything.

Achilles sat between them in the front seat, his head on Helen's lap. He'd raise his head every so often, and his fluffy ears would swivel toward sounds they couldn't hear. Once he even growled very lightly, giving them the hope that a legendary monster would come charging out of the woods.

But it didn't.

After the lecture from Grainger, the waiver, and the fearsome dragon skull, they'd expected something more terrifying. Instead they reached the campsite clearing without so much as a brush with a dragon whelp. The sanctuary stone, a light blue smoothed oval, hovered a few feet off the ground, casting a soft glow.

Grainger hadn't been lying. The view was amazing. The campsite perched on the edge of a cliff, allowing them to see across the preserve below. The muted colors of twilight bathed everything in shades of blue and gray. Waning light shimmered across the surface of a faraway lake. The first stars sparkled at the edge of a red-and-cerulean night.

Helen said, “I was expecting less serenity, more forbidden terrors.”

“You were?”

She picked up a rock, threw it at the setting sun. “I'm not complaining.”

They set up camp as night fell on the preserve. In the darkened forest beyond the stone's protection, things lurked. But none of those things dared approach, though their eyes (sinister glints of red, yellow, and green) watched from the shadows. None of the dragons came close enough to be seen as more than silhouettes slinking around the camp. When Helen and Troy scouted the boundary's edge they would come across animal tracks, both large and small, they hadn't noticed before.

Helen had trouble setting up her pup tent. She'd wasted forty minutes with little to show for it but a misshapen lump of canvas.

“Need some help on that?” asked Troy.

“I can get it.”

“It's OK to ask for help, Hel.”

“I can set up a tent,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Suit yourself.” He sat beside his own standing tent and petted Achilles.

“You don't have to watch me.”

Troy smiled but said nothing.

“I think there's something wrong with my instructions,” she said. “I think the ranger gave me a defective pamphlet.”

“There wasn't anything wrong with mine.”

She untangled the ropes. She didn't know how they kept getting knotted up. “Don't you see? That's the insidious nature of it. If she gave us both bad instructions, then we'd know something was up. But if she gives them to only one of us, then that person ends up looking like a dummy who can't put up a tent.”

“Let me see your instructions.”

“No, it's OK. I got it.”

Clouds, visible as a darkness crawling across the starry sky, had been moving in their direction. The threat might change direction before it reached them or pass overhead without leaving a drop of rain. But Helen could smell the humidity in the air, and she didn't take any chances when it came to rain.

“I don't know why you're being so stubborn about this, Hel.”

She didn't know either, but somewhere along the way she'd decided this was a test of honor, of heroic endurance. If Hercules could drag Cerberus from the underworld, she could set up a stupid tent, and she could do it without any help.

She vowed to the gods above and below that, no matter what, she would make her own shelter. Nothing, no force of nature or supernatural curse, could stop her.

The plastic tent pole snapped in two in her hands.

To add insult to injury, thunder cracked the sky and a few tiny drops of rain fell on her face. Helen realized, as perhaps she never had before, that she was just an insignificant speck in a grand design and that her wishes and desires meant nothing.

“Well played, universe,” she muttered.

A shadow soared overhead, kicking up a gust of wind that blew over her tent. It was followed by another. And another. The creatures sounded a warbling cry, more like birdsong than a dragon shriek. The monsters circled over the camp for a moment before soaring away to the lake in the distance.

Grumbling, Helen righted her tent and tried to figure out how to get around the broken pole. “Do we have any tape?”

“Hel, you have to see this.”

She scanned the darkening sky, assessed the probability of a storm hitting them.

“Hel…”

She threw the pole pieces into the mess of her tent and joined him at the cliff's edge.

Below, the three dragons quenched their thirst at the lake. The clouds parted just enough to allow pale moonlight to reflect off their glittering red scales. They dipped their jaws in the water, scooping out gulps, swallowing by throwing their heads back like birds.

The creatures were long and lean, like snakes with elongated limbs. The forelimbs served as wings, and the dragons were a bit clumsy on land. The smallest one slipped, falling into the lake, shrieking and throwing a tantrum until the biggest gently wrapped her jaws around him and lifted him back on shore. The little dragon soon forgot his trauma as he wrestled with his sibling. The mother settled down, watching her hatchlings play.

“This was a great idea, Hel.”

Thunder cracked. The dragons launched themselves, soaring with all the majesty they lacked on land. They passed overhead again, blowing Helen's tent out of the sanctuary's protection and into the dark.

The first few raindrops fell. She had only a few moments before the real storm began, and she knew it was going to be a hard rain, a thunderstorm worthy of the storm gods themselves. Her first instinct was to run for the car, but it was too far. She'd never make it.

Her only alternative was Troy's tent. If she'd had a few more seconds to think about it, she probably would've gone for the Chimera. But the years had honed her instincts so that she feared the rain more than anything, and those instincts drove her to dash for the tent. She dove in just as the deluge came, and in her haste she nearly trampled Troy and Achilles. But she made it.

Troy was only a second behind her, and his hair and face were wet. Achilles was right behind him. The scruffy moistened dog shook himself dry, and Helen turned away to avoid the deluge.

“Hel, it's OK,” said Troy. “It's just a little rain.”

A thunderclap belied his words. The storm beat down on the tent with a steady staccato rhythm. Like thousands of little demons clawing at her shelter. She stifled her stupid panic. She knew it was stupid. She was cursed by an exiled god and in a forest full of dragons. She'd fought a cyclops. She was probably going to die on this quest.

But nothing filled her with dread like the sound of that rain.

The faint odor of wet fur filled the tent, but it wasn't her. It was Achilles. Her fur smelled muskier.

The tent was big enough for all of them but just barely. Helen lay on one side. Troy lay on the other. The blue light of the sanctuary stone was bright enough that they weren't completely in the dark, despite the storm. Though it probably sounded worse than it was, she was surprised at how well the tent was holding up. He'd even been smart enough to build it on the high ground so none of the water came in.

“Gone camping a lot?” she asked.

“No. First time,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

She snarled in the gloom. “No reason.”

Helen's shoulder brushed against Troy. She was getting bigger. Not now, right this moment, but slowly over the hours since she'd given away her bracelet. She couldn't prove it, and she wanted to believe it was paranoia on her part. But she was convinced that she was half an inch taller and wider than she had been yesterday. She hadn't weighed herself, but she was willing to bet she was heavier too. The Chimera seemed to sink a little lower when she rode in it.

She wished she had something to take her mind off of this. Something, anything, to distract her from the rain outside and the cramped quarters.

“Why don't you like the rain?” asked Troy.

This was not a distraction.

“It frizzes my hair.” It was her default excuse whenever she was asked the question.

A thunderclap shook the ground. In the darkness, something roared.

She shifted, and her right breast brushed against Troy. Maybe his shoulder. Maybe his arm.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You don't have to keep apologizing.”

“Yes, sorry about that.”

She closed her eyes and willed herself to keep her mouth shut. She liked nothing about this situation. That made her tense. That made her likely to say stupid things.

“I meant I'm sorry about the apologizing,” she said.

“Yes, I understood, Hel.”

She concentrated on her breathing. She could feel herself growing even now. Not the sudden burst from Bruce Banner to Incredible Hulk. This was worse because it was something only she noticed. Something irreversible.

“Your hair always looks nice,” said Troy.

She was caught unawares. It took her a moment to absorb the sentence.

“What?”

“I just said your hair always looks nice. You shouldn't be self-conscious about it.”

Helen rubbed a few strands between her fingers. It was true. She did have nice hair. She might have had problems with the fur and the hooves, but she had no problem with her hair. She found the horns inconvenient, but they were easy to work around. But the fur was a pain in the ass, and the hooves robbed her of shoes. She couldn't imagine enjoying shopping for shoes, but she'd never had the chance to even try.

She actually kind of liked the tail. She'd always thought it cute. It did tend to swish whenever she was mad or nervous. As it did now. It made lying on her back for long periods difficult. This was why she was on her side, facing Troy to avoid smacking him with her flopping tail, brushing her chest against him whenever she drew in a deep breath.

“Troy…”

“Yes, Hel?”

The patter of the rain lightened.

“Never mind.” She rolled onto her back. “It's nothing.”

“No, what is it?” he asked. The faint blue light highlighted the left side of his face.

“When you told Ginger Cheney you were going on this quest with me, how did she react?”

“Why would I tell Ginger about this?”

“I thought you two were dating.”

“We went out a couple of times. It wasn't serious.”

“Oh. My mistake. I thought you two were an item.”

“No. Not an item. She's cool, but we really don't click. Aside from being popular. But it was more like everyone expected us to be perfect together. It works good on paper, but none of the pieces match up.”

“Like a bad instruction manual,” she said.

“Like that. It's like you and Pablo Vasquez.”

Helen groaned. “Don't remind me.”

Pablo Vasquez had haunted Helen, in one form or another, for over a decade. Because Pablo Vasquez had antlers. He hadn't been born with them. Until the age of eight he'd been antler-free. Then one year he'd returned from summer camp with two three-point projections growing out of the top of his head. The details were sketchy, and Pablo never talked about how it had happened. From then on, a lot of people had assumed Helen and Pablo belonged together. Heck, she'd even believed it herself for a little while.

Dating him had put an end to that.

“Don't get me wrong,” said Troy. “Pablo is a good guy. But anyone could see you didn't have much in common.”

“Not anyone. And we both liked comic books. Though he was more DC, and I was more Marvel.”

“He didn't like the Hulk, huh?”

“Said he was stupid,” she replied.

“Philistine.”

They chuckled.

“How'd you know I like the Hulk?” she asked.

“You might have mentioned him once or twice. It's called paying attention, Hel.”

Helen bit her lip. That urge to say something, anything, came to her. Otherwise, it was just the two of them stuck in tight quarters listening to each other breathe. He beat her to the punch.

“Why would you think Ginger would care?” he asked.

“It's not important.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows, and there was just enough light that she could see his eyes. She wished she could turn away, but her tail was twitching under her leg. She couldn't afford to free it.

“Forget it, Troy. Don't even know why I brought it up. You wouldn't understand.”

She almost got up and walked out into the rain. Better that than to sit here in the dark, in the awkward silence. She closed her eyes to shut out what little light was coming in.

“Hel—”

“I said forget it.”

He put his hand on her shoulder.

She sat up and pulled away. “Y'know what? Think I'll sleep in the car.”

She was up and out of the tent before she had time to think it over. The shock of the rain hitting her face startled her back to her senses. Too late to turn back, though. The storm wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. It had only sounded like it from inside the tent, fed by her fear. It was less a storm, more a cool shower. It might have even been refreshing if she'd been a different girl.