Free Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

with a larger shimmering shape in his mouth. Jennifer knew her fish well; she could tell even from this far that it was a walleye. It followed the trout into the plastic bin.
    “I’ll need to get about a dozen more like that,” he panted upon rejoining her. “Should take only a few minutes. But you might want to get a bit lower, if that’ll make you more comfortable. I’ll go as fast as I can.”
    And he was off again. As he fished, the pair of eagles Jennifer had seen before flew a tight circle on the opposite end of the lake, occasionally sparing a sharp glance at this larger predator. She watched her father with something approaching regret—he was doing all the work, while she just tagged along. She had never liked that feeling, not even as a small child. They had always fished together when they came to Grandpa Crawford’s lake. She would have her own pole, tackle, and bait; Grandpa even kept a special tackle box for her in his garage. Catching her own fish always felt special, and she hadn’t needed help tying her line or setting the hook for years.
    This, on the other hand, felt too much like her father wrapping his arms around her to guide the fishing pole, while one hand stayed on hers over the reel to make sure she didn’t reel too fast or too slow. It chafed her.
    Doesn’t look
that
hard
, she convinced herself as her father came up with his sixth and seventh fish.
And if I do it wrong, what happens
?
I get a little wet. Big deal
.
    Jennifer fixed her eyes on the lake’s surface, a bit away from where her father had just disturbed the water. Before long, she found them: three slender shadows, wriggling just under the surface of the lake. She let her feet down, pulled her wings up …
    … and began to scream.
    Like most insane water rides, the dive was more terrifying in the experience than the watching. At first, Jennifer was certain she was doing something wrong. Then a voice in the back of her mind spoke up.
    Keep your head down. Eyes on the fish
.
    She saw the three shapes scatter at the sense of her shadow above them—drat, she had come in on them from the west, like an idiot. No stopping now. While two of the shapes bolted in opposite directions, one just shot straight ahead. She chose that one, and tilted her wings so that her diving path became less steep.
    Claws out
…
    She saw her hind claws flex as they reached out in front of her. Her approach to the surface was perfect, the fish was right below her, she tilted back, back …
    Wings
!
Flap wings, dork
!
Slow down
!
You overshot
!
    She lost sight of the fish as it disappeared below her nearly prone body. A desperate flap of wings broke her form, and she struggled to avoid plunging into the water. It worked, sort of—she slowed a bit, the fish tried to scoot past, and she flicked her hind leg into the water without thinking. Her claws pierced slime and scales, and she felt a brief thrill of victory.
    Unfortunately, she was still moving, and she realized she had no idea how to pull up. On her back, with wings spread out like enormous air brakes, Jennifer did the only thing she could think of—she turned her wings forward to start flapping.
    Had she been faster, or even a few feet above the water, this might have worked. But instead, the new shape sent her into a roll, and she skidded across the surface of the lake like a skipping stone. A few splashes ended with one large
sploosh
, and then she was floating on the surface on her back, a bit dazed …
    … and with the fish still squirming, impaled on the back toe of her hind claw.
    She raised her head and found her father, who was cruising toward her. “I GOT THE FISH!” she hollered. “I GOT THE FISH!”
    With a vigorous flop, the fish loosened itself from her claw and dropped into the water with a light splash.
    “Aaaaargh!” She immediately folded her wings up against her body, rolled over in the water, and dove.
    Get back here, you slimy, stupid, hole-in-your-gut, useless excuse for