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

a fish
! It was hard for Jennifer not to take the rascal’s escape personally. Two seconds ago, she had looked like a fool who had managed to catch a fish. Now, unless she caught that fish again, she just looked like a fool.
    There it was—a wavering, glimmering shape ahead, trickles of blood escaping the puncture wound from both sides. She knew it would be easy enough to pluck off the surface when it died shortly, but that wasn’t the point.
    She heard a massive splash nearby, and saw her father’s shape enter the water.
Oh, no, you don’t, Dad. No help on this one. This fish is
mine!
    With that last thought, she let out a furious hiss. To her great surprise, a cascade of flame escaped from her jaws and surged toward her prey, boiling the water as it passed. The tempest coursed over the fish and Jennifer lost sight of it for an instant.
    Then, after the flames died and the water cooled, she saw the fish gently float to the surface, quite dead.
    She followed it up. When her head broke into the chill autumn air, she heard something large thrashing in the water close by … and
laughing
?
    The dead fish floated gently by her nose horn. It was charred, punctured, and half of it was missing. It was pathetic. It was beautiful.
    Later that evening, with her father still chuckling, her mother giggling, risotto simmering, and the rest of the fish roasting, Jennifer still believed that her catch looked the best of the lot of them.
     
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CHAPTER 6
Regression
    « ^ »
    The next few days passed agreeably enough. Jennifer continued to work on her flying and hunting, and found time for the occasional game of circus with Phoebe. During the evenings, she would try sketching with the large chunk of charcoal and newsprint that Grandpa Crawford used. It seemed a lost cause at first, but she eventually got the hang of moving her wing claw back and forth as fluidly as she would move a human hand, so that the charcoal made gentle, accurate strokes. Before long, she was sketching trees, water, and other shapes.
    Despite her father’s encouragement, however, she did not get the soccer ball out. Even with her successes this week, looking at the ball made it too easy to think about her friends, and how they would react if they ever found out how different and dangerous she was.
    What would Eddie say? What would his parents say? And Susan? What would happen to her, and her family, if the town found out? Would they have to move? Would the truth follow them? Would she ever get to feel, or even act, normal again?
    So the soccer ball stayed in the garage, and Jennifer stayed out of the garage.
    The dreams, she was glad to see, settled down a bit. In fact, sleeping in her favorite vacation house, in her room, and even the (admittedly reassuring) presence of her parents was all almost pleasant.
    The fourth morning at the cabin, she lay sprawled out on the grass, shooting smoke rings softly around Phoebe’s long muzzle while the dog licked her nose horn. The cries of the nearby family of golden eagles punctuated the still air. Elizabeth was finishing some cold cereal on the porch, and her father had flown off somewhere before Jennifer had even woken up.
    “Flying today should be good,” she told her mother. They hadn’t talked much all week; Jennifer figured they both had been trying to stay out of each other’s way.
    Elizabeth didn’t answer right away. Jennifer lifted her head. “Mom?”
    “I heard you. But I’m not sure your father will want you to fly today.”
    Jennifer raised her snout into the air. Her Dad had taught her how to tell if the weather was changing. “Temperature’s crisp, not too bad. I don’t smell much change on the wind. Am I wrong?”
    Elizabeth gave a genuine smile. “I wouldn’t know, dear. But whatever the weather, I think your father wants you to take it easy today. It is, after all, day five.”
    Day five
. The words hit Jennifer like bricks. The crescent moon was ending. Of course it wouldn’t do to be