Free Rise of the Poison Moon by MaryJanice Davidson

them. I don’t understand—”
    “Maybe the snipers in the tower—”
    He narrowed his eyes and stood up suddenly. “Her. HER. HER!”
    Andi knew whom he was pointing at before she even looked. There was only one Her.
    “We have more work to do,” he hissed, dragging her by the arm back into the woods.

CHAPTER 13

    Susan

    Susan Elmsmith, would-be roving reporter and (hopefully) future television journalist, sighed and leaned back.
    Gautierre’s head appeared directly over hers, blocking the autumn sunlight, and he opened his fingers, letting the delightful tidbits drop into her mouth.
    “Mmmm. Pez.”
    “It’s not the same as feeding you peeled grapes, I s’pose,” he admitted, while Susan crunched. “Grapes being really hard to come by.”
    “I hate grapes. The seeds get stuck in my teeth.”
    “Eat seedless ones.”
    “That’s the sinister aspect of all grapes, you foolish boy.”
    “This ought to be good.”
    “Even the seedless ones have seeds lurking within. There you are, trying to enjoy romantic fresh fruit, then the next thing you know there’s seeds and all kinds of gunk jammed between your wisdom teeth.”
    “Wisdom teeth.” Gautierre flopped down beside her on the blanket, handing her a pack of Grape Pez. “Huh.”
    Susan busily shredded the wrapper and popped more candy in her mouth. They were over the border of the town on the south end, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm autumn day.
    Eventually, Gautierre had come to see her side of their recent argument. After a face-saving interval of a few days, he had suggested a picnic, and given the limitations of Domeland, she thought he’d done well: Pez, and chocolate chips, and a box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, and canned apple pie filling, a bag of mini marshmallows, and room-temperature ginger ale.
    Now they were lounging on a pair of sleeping bags zipped together, keeping an eye on the tree line. Gautierre had chosen the spot: the town was at their back, the site of the strange invasion was as far away as anyone could possibly get, they could see an ambush from a mile away, and he had flown over the area first to make sure no one had any nasty surprises planned.
    She loved watching him fly, and she had to smile when she remembered his reaction to her reaction the first time she’d seen him in dragon form: Don’t let the lavender wings fool you. I’m all man! All weredragon, I mean . . .
    “Wisdom teeth,” he now repeated, back to his other body, which was merely that of a ferociously handsome guy. Not many teenagers could pull off long, charcoal black hair woven into three braids, though Gautierre managed handily.
    “Uh.” She paused in midcrunch. “What?”
    “Trying to remember if we’ve got a dentist anywhere in that hospital.”
    “Not that I know of. The one me and my dad use knows Hank Blacktooth pretty well. I think he’s living pretty close to city hall.”
    He didn’t respond, but she could sense the question: so what happens if someone needs serious work done? Yet another medical situation we haven’t experienced so far but probably will soon. Wisdom teeth, teeth chipped in accidents, root canals . . . it’s only a matter of time. So what will we do?
    The answer came, strangely enough, in the voice of Dr. Georges-Scales: the same thing we do when a pregnant woman has to give birth, or someone gets the flu, or appendicitis. We will make do.
    “Dental stuff isn’t supposed to be any big deal,” he finally managed. “Growing up in Crescent Valley, it was easy. Dragon physiology is pretty rigorous.”
    She could see him starting to worry about her again. “I have a perfect dental record,” she reminded him. “Teeth like rocks. I’ve been hoarding floss.”
    “Hmmm.” He didn’t smile. “What about other routine stuff? Like having an appendix out.”
    Ah, that’s where this is coming from. He was thinking about a certain poor Mr. Simmons, late of the United States Post Office, former commander