Free Hip Deep in Dragons by Christina Westcott Page A

Accords against using technology,” he said.
    “I don’t see why.” I defended my argument for what felt like the tenth time. “Don’t they make metal containers in your world?”
    “Oh, aye, ’tis not the can, but how the thing was created—in a soulless factory by equally soulless machines. And you canna tell me that the petrol inside ’tis natural, either.”
    “But fire is only fire in any world.”
    “Aye, and I could set a blaze to that nest with my magic. I do not need your petrol. Or you putting yourself in danger to help me.”
    I’d stuffed the box of matches in my pocket and the flare gun into my waistband to made sure he wouldn’t need to waste his talent on anything as simple as lighting a fire. “But after last night’s rainstorm, that pile of muck will be so wet it might take too much of your magic to get it burning without the help of some kind of accelerant. You have to save all the power you can to face the dragon.”
    If the magical strength available to him was proportionate to the calories he’d consumed, Robby wouldn’t have a problem overcoming the beast. He’d munched through two bags of chips and all the fruit and sandwiches. He finished up the last of the energy bars as we walked, his long legs striding so quickly that I had to scurry to keep up. All that food must go straight to fuel his magic, because there wasn’t a hint of fat on his hard thighs or chiseled abdomen. Like a battery, he was charged up, and moving with a fluid grace, but as soon as he tapped into that power, I was afraid he’d burn through it quickly.
    He stopped again, this time massaging his fingers to restore circulation. “I do not understand why I allow you to talk me into these insane stunts. I have faced revenants on the Wizard’s Road and pitted my will against demons, but I have been back with you for less than a day, and I am like a foolish school boy, willing to follow you into another crazy adventure. Like the time you convinced me to help you put Tommy Hanson’s bicycle on his garage roof.”
    I laughed at the memory, a memory that only yesterday I couldn’t recall. I’d always been the mischief-maker—nothing mean or destructive, just fun stuff. Childish pranks. And Robby had always been willing to follow me. It seemed impossible that I had forgotten that impish girl and grown into a responsible—boring—adult.
    I smiled at him with that crooked little grin that always melted his resistance. “But wasn’t it worth it to see the look on Fat Tommy’s face when he tried to explain to his father how the bike got up there?”
    Robby only snorted in replay as he resumed walking.
    I spied the line of vegetation that marked the edge of the slough. “Are you sure the dragon hasn’t returned?”
    “Aye, but as soon as that bloody great worm sees the fire, it will rush back to protect its brood. If you are not well away by then…” He shook his head and extended a hand. “Give me the matches.”
    “No. This was my idea. I’m going to see it through to the end.”
    “Laura.” A growl lay beneath the word.
    “What are you going to do, force me? Take over my body and make me leave?”
    “I could…”
    “But you won’t.” I saw anger simmering in his eyes, and behind that, a power flickered, so intense it raised the hair on the back of my neck. This wasn’t a childhood playmate, but an honest to goodness wizard, who had faced threats I probably couldn’t even imagine. Before I lost my nerve, I pushed through the palm fronds, pulling Robby behind me.
    The carrion stench battered against my senses like a physical wall. I bit my tongue to force down a gag. My eyes closed, I sucked shallow breaths through my mouth, and tried to remember why I had thought this was such a good idea.
    “’Tis clear now, but we must make haste,” Robby said, scanning the sky.
    I nodded my agreement.
    The gas can slung between us, we waded into the slough. At first, the dark water came only to my calves,