Free Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology by Claudie Arseneault Page B

heavenly.
    “Anabel,” she called out. No reply. The garden was just as empty as it had been when she left it. She even knocked on Anabel's bedroom door, but to no avail. Looking out the back door again, Elena began to worry. Where had she gone?  
    Out in the distance, across the fields, she could see the red dragon swooping low over the ground. If only it would come back, somehow show her where Anabel had gone. Unless, of course, they were out together, casting secret spells and perfecting this or that magic. Either way, she'd have to eat dinner alone.  
    “Would have been nice to have a little warning,” she muttered as she took her plate to the table. But perhaps that's what it would be like, living with a witch. Sometimes warm and domestic, sometimes chill and absent. At least she'd have a lot to tell her friends.
    Elena ate her fried rice alone, put away the leftovers alone, washed the dishes alone. She kept waiting for the creak of the front door or the squeak of the back one, her ears tuned to the slightest sound. She sat on the patio to watch the stars alone, but the night wind was colder than she'd dressed for, and the darkness felt deeper and harder than it ever had before. She went back inside. She walked through the house once more to check for Anabel and then locked all the doors.
    Late that night, a sound woke Elena—the back door, squeaking as it swung open and closed, followed by the slow groans of footsteps that someone is trying to keep silent. The footsteps passed her room and continued down the hall towards Anabel's room. Elena turned over, too tired to wonder at the hour, and slept.  
    The rising sun did not wake Elena as it had the day before. Instead, the sound of rain on the roof pulled her out of her dreams, and she smiled. Finally, the rain had come. There would be space to breathe for a few more days, space to laugh and plant and cook without worry.  
    She had made it all the way through her morning routine and halfway through breakfast before she began to wonder at Anabel's absence. She crept down the hall and pressed her ear to the door of the bedroom. Light snoring came from the other side. Elena sighed in relief. At least she was safe.  
    Despite the morning's soaking rain, she worked in the garden as best she could without guidance. Late that afternoon, she was struggling to glue together a broken ceramic pitcher that had been sitting on the kitchen counter when Anabel came into the room.
    “Hey there,” said Elena tentatively.
    “Good … not-morning.” Anabel's eyes looked weary, but her face was clean and she'd pulled her hair back. “Don't worry about the pitcher, it's been broken for weeks.”
    “It's okay, I can fix it.”  
    “Well, thank you.” Silence fell again as Anabel looked around the kitchen. “You managed all right?”
    Elena nodded.  
    “Good.” She yawned. “When you're done, can you go pick some vegetables for the soup?”
    There wasn't another word about her mysterious absence all evening, nor the next day, nor the next. As Elena packed her bag to return home for the weekend, she wondered if Anabel would even be around when she came back on Monday. She hoped so. It was much nicer to work with her than to struggle in the garden alone. And after all, she was still new. She needed the help.  

    * * *

    It would be a full week before anything happened again. Elena waited, wondering if there would ever be an appropriate moment to ask Anabel about her disappearance. None occurred. Even when the timing might have been right, she found herself lost in their conversations, paying more attention to making Anabel laugh or listening to her stories than confronting her. When midweek rolled around and she had nearly forgotten all about it, the witch vanished again, in much the same way.  
    This time, Elena was not surprised. She went about her evening as usual, performing only a cursory search of the house and garden. Once more, she found herself wishing she could