Free The Last Dragon Chronicles #4: The Fire Eternal by Chris D'Lacey

case.
She shook herself together with a clatter of bangles. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”
    “Aren’t you going to tell me what the poetry was like?”
    Zanna opened her bag and threw the pamphlet toward her. “Pretty good. Check for yourself.”
    “Is this
his?”
Lucy said, making no attempt at all to disguise her shock.
    “He’s a fine writer,” Zanna said a little pompously. “His poetry’s very moving. Why don’t you read it? He’s coming to the shop for a consultation next Wednesday. I’d appreciateit if you could stop in during your lunch hour and cover for me.”
    Lucy read the inscription and put the book down. “Did he ask about David?”
    “No, why would he?”
    Lucy gave her a questioning glare.
    Sighing heavily, Zanna replied, “He seemed relieved that Henry and I weren’t an item, if that’s what you mean? And bizarrely, he took a copy of
White Fire
home to read.”
    “Are you going to tell him?”
    “He’s a client, Lucy. I don’t discuss my personal life with clients.”
    “Not even if you’re into them?”
    Raar,
meowed Bonnington, and trotted out the door.
    “Okay, forget it. I’ll ask your mom if she’s free next week —”
    “Oh, talk about ‘sensitive.’” Lucy made a face. “Relax, will you? I’ll cover. I always do, don’t I? Might as well see if he’s ‘worthy,’ I suppose.”
    “Thank you,” Zanna said, performinga minor curtsy. “Now, if Her Majesty approves, I’m going to retire to my bedchamber and check that my daughter’s asleep.”
    “She is,” Lucy said with an aggravated drawl. But as Zanna turned away she sparked up again, saying, “Oh, by the way, she drew a picture.”
    Zanna jiggled her house keys, a measure of her annoyance. “Lexie’s always drawing pictures. What of it?”
    Lucy aimed the remote, makingthe television channels flash like a zoetrope. “It’s an ancient dragon. Not like one of ours.”
    On the mantelpiece, Gwillan rattled his scales.
    Zanna hunched her shoulders. “And your point is?”
    “Nothing … ‘cept she’s never drawn one like it before — and it’s got blue eyes.”
    Blue eyes. Zanna turned the thought aside. She couldn’t face that path. Not tonight. Not after Tam Farrell’s heartbreakingpoetry. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said and walked away. But as she entered what used to be David’s room, the words were still with her, doing their best to conjure up ghosts in the way that poems make worlds between their lines.
    She slid her bag off her shoulder, sat on the bed, and stared at Alexa. The child was at peace, sleepingsoundly, her pretty face catching the light of the moon.One small fist was resting on the pillow. Inside it was a fan of drawing paper. Zanna leaned forward and teased it out. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gadzooks twitch.
    “Have you seen this?” she whispered, using soft dragontongue.
    He sent her a quiet
hrrr
of acknowledgement, but his gaze was clearly taken by something in the garden, making Zanna ask, “What is it? What’s the matter?”
    Beyondthe glass there came the faintest tinkle of a wind chime. Gadzooks immediately peered at Alexa. Her eyelids twitched as though she were dreaming and from her lips came a gentle murmur of dragonsong.
    “Oh, baby,” Zanna whispered, cooing inside. She touched her hand to Alexa’s cheek. “Are the fairies talking to you?”
    Alexa fell back into sleep once more. Gadzooks blew a thoughtful smoke ring andfrowned.
    “Has she been doing that all night?”
    Gadzooks hurred again.
    “Has it woken her?”
    His tail flicked sideways, but he shook his head.
    Zanna nodded and opened the piece of paper. As Lucy had said, it was a drawing of a dragon. A child’s effort. More of a sketch than a picture. In outline, it had the classic dragon shape: small head, umbrella wings, sinewy body. None of this came as anyreal surprise, for any talented child might reproduce that. But the eyes made Zanna catch her breath. In the pale