Free Icefire by Chris D'Lacey Page A

my aunt.”
    Knowing protests would be futile, he turned to leave, but found his way immediately blocked by Lucy. “Mom, Aunty Gwyneth says don’t forget to put a slice of lemon in her tea and, Mom, Gretel is a
potions
dragon.”
    “What?” said David. “What’s a potions dragon?”
    “I’m not talking to you,” said Lucy. “Oh, thanks. And what have I done to
you?”
Lucy, contradictory as ever, replied,
“She
had a dog collar around her neck —”
    “Lucy, do the lemon,” Liz said tartly.
    “— and a tattoo.”
    “Lucy.”
    “And tassels.”
    “So?” said David. “What’s wrong with tassels?” Lucy pinned him with an unforgiving glare. “Are you going to tell Sophie you kissed a
witch?”
“Lucy!” said her mom. “That’s very naughty.” And David, for once, was right. “What I do is mybusiness,” he said to Lucy, coming almost nose to nose. “Zanna is a
friend,
not a girlfriend or a witch. And I’ve told you before not to spy on me.” He shoved her aside and stomped to his room, closing his ears to any more gibes.
    His first impulse was to pack. Get out of this madhouse. Live a life of happy squalor with other students. But as he paced back and forth, weighing his outrage against his guilt, he decided that quitting was the weaker option. He should stand firm, assert himself, protect his rights. No cantankerous old woman was going to oust him! Or any nosy little girl for that matter. And as for Liz. Well, she often showed people around the Dragons’ Den, didn’t she? And putting a dragon in a bread box was hardly a crime! He sat at the computer and switched it on. A short, sharp letter would suffice for this. A list of his grievances and expectations. He would apologize, of course, for causing any upset, but remind Liz, in no uncertain terms, that he had a verbal contract to rent this room and would not, under any circumstances, think about resigning it.
    “Come on, come on,” he moaned at the computer. As usual, it was taking a lifetime to boot. Impatient, he dashed upstairs to the bathroom. By the time he’d returned, the desktop was loaded. He reached for the mouse — and leaped back in shock. Aunty Gwyneth’s dragon was sitting on his mouse pad.
    “Lucy!” David shouted. “This isn’t funny!” Now who was invading whose privacy, exactly?
    He waited half a minute, but Lucy didn’t come. Frowning, he studied Gretel hard. She was a pretty little dragon with short, neat wings but a slightly larger pattern of scales than the others. Her glaze was a darker shade of green as well, which gave the impression that despite her sweet, charismatic appearance, she was really rather old, even from another age. What fascinated David most were her eyes. They were specked with a myriad of tiny pits, which caught the light from all directions and spiraled it around like a swirling pool.
    David rolled his chair a fraction closer. Was it his imagination, or was the dragon inviting him to smellher flowers? She had three in her bouquet: pink, yellow, white. David leaned in to sniff them. Away to his right, he thought he heard a gentle rattling sound, like the noise the scales of a dragon might make if the dragon was gently quaking with fear. It didn’t stop David from inhaling. A light scent of honey and cinnamon sticks pricked the capillaries in his nostrils. He blinked, cross-eyed, and pulled away again. “Hmm, very refreshing,” he muttered. “Now, where was I …?” And he reached out and switched his computer off. Then he dropped to his knees and fished out a gym bag from under his bed. Ten minutes later, he’d filled it with clothes and some of his smaller personal items. He put on his jacket and hoisted the gym bag onto his shoulder. He waved at Gretel. Her eyes had turned a very bright violet. Then he left the room.
    Reaching the living room he knocked politely and popped his head around the door. Aunty Gwyneth and Lucy were watching television and having a debate about dinosaurs. A