8.31 The Pooka’s Wife
The Fae who entered had not only brought us a generous selection of deliciousness, but clean clothes and other personal provisions. I practically jumped up and down when I saw the hanging rack with four dresses and several pairs of jeans and tees, all in my size. There were also shoes and boots for me. It was Christmas in Faeryland, or at least it seemed like it. Our meal, shower, and clothing exploits occurred swiftly, and we were soon speeding out the door. I had a baby dragon to locate; plus we needed to make sure that the guys were all okay. Had they received the same bounty we had of clothing, proper rooms, and food? Timothy remembered his way among the hallways and mirrors, which all looked identical to me. I just passed along in his wake, my hand steadily fixed to his, my smiles of anticipation wide. We found everyone in the huge chamber where we’d gone the day before. The two werewolves, both gnawing contentedly on some kind of meat, Ben beside Queen Moragana looking slightly ill at ease as if his seating arrangement might not have been his favorite, and Daniel who was sitting across from him with my cute, little dragon in his lap. I let go of the hand I was holding and ran to greet my adopted dragon. Garpon, the dragon said while he was nuzzling my hair. My name is Garpon. I did not like being separated from you, but this thunder god/bird fed me well. Had the dragon actually spoken to me before? No, I remembered that Daniel had been forced to translate the odd sounds the baby had been making. “You learned how to talk to me!” I said, laughing with the joy of it. Garpon’s long purple tongue lathed at my face. Of course I can speak to you now. You are my mother, he informed me. I wasn’t crazy about the face washing, but the fact that we could communicate was splendiferous. Of course, after another moment, I checked that our crew were each okay. Smiles were exchanged, a few words of reassurance given, but I noticed that none of them seemed overly enthusiastic about Faeryland. Yet, they seemed okay. All of them were wearing clean clothes, and they had plates before them that showed the remnants of their meals, although the two werewolves still had piles more to chew on. Timothy brought me a chair at that moment, which provoked the queen into frown lines and a sharp voice. “You must remember, Cadarone, that you are a prince and not a servant,” she snapped at him. Then she clicked her fingers, gave an order, and another chair was quickly brought over for Timothy. My sweet husband pushed it close and sat down beside me. **** Throughout that first day, members of the queen’s court strolled in and out, meeting with us, and kissing my hands (whenever they could catch them.) Due to the number of them, their faces blurred, along with their names, except for one. He practically oozed slime, although, at least he wasn’t one of the ones who cared about kissing my hand. Instead, he glued himself beside the queen, flirting with her with a nauseating tenacity. Count Harland had good looks, an ingratiating smile, and general air of cunning that hit me like the sour wind from a speeding semi-truck. He absolutely felt WRONG. I had once been good at figuring out people’s approaches and intentions, but this reaction of mine to Lord Harland was not like any intuition I’d ever encountered. My barely suppressed awareness of his foulness was like a warning light, blaring fixedly red. He twisted my stomach, sent creepy-crawlies all over my skin, and made me want to crawl under the bed in my chamber and hide. If only I had listened more to my feelings, my premonition, perhaps, it might have prevented the whole debacle that came after that first meeting with the Fae. It might have avoided the calamity that befell us thereafter, which was so much worse than my kidnapping by Queen Beatrice . . . It was, to quote my former roommate, “The absolute, despicable pits!” To be continued in Book 3 of the Wonderland Series: The Pooka, His Wife, and a Dragon Named Garpon (beginning immediately after Book 2 of the Shama Series: Witchly Trials and Complications)
8.30 The Pooka’s Wife
I realized I’d never be able to shape change into a pooka. That was not something a wife could expect when her pooka husband bit her, but still I knew that this second time had for sure pookatized me. Timothy laughed when I told him that. “Pookatized,” he said. “There is no such word, my love. Besides that first bite should have produced all the changes needed to give you a long, long life, perfect health, and the ability, hopefully, to bear our child.” “But you said that Andrew developed special benefits when you bit him, and I didn’t feel all that much different. I’d thought I had at the time, I guess because I wanted to believe it had happened, but it was nothing like how my body feels now.” We were still lying in bed having this conversation, our after conjugal bliss, I guess you could call it. My head was lying on Timothy’s massive chest, comfortably so, and I was stroking his hair, which felt silky, not like a horse’s mane nor like a cat’s fur. Different, but agreeable to the touch, In fact, I craved stroking both the hair on Timothy’s chest and on his head. Silly, I know, but maybe it was a pooka thing, or rather a pooka’s wife thing. “I see,” my husband said, nuzzling my neck where the new bite was located. “A pooka wife’s thing, huh?” Apparently, he found that funny enough that his chest rumbled with a chuckle that vibrated against my ear. I suppose that might have led us to doing other things, enchantingly pleasurable other things, but a sudden knock at the outer door sent Timothy springing upwards. He threw a cover over me, said, “Stay here,” then flung himself away from me and out of the bedroom. Was Timothy afraid that Queen Moragana might attempt to slip into his bedroom once again, as she had done long, long ago? Did Timothy think the queen might be into a three-some? I didn’t know the woman well enough to predict. I wondered if I should jump up and climb back into my ragged, dirty dress. Or, maybe I should sprint into the shower and afterward clothe myself in bed coverings. But my body refused such ambitions. I simply waited to see what was going to happen. I knew Timothy would take care of whomever had knocked at the door. I heard voices, several male voices, in fact, and it seemed that they’d entered the main chamber. Why would Timothy allow that? I gripped the cover tighter against my body, wishing I had forced myself into getting more presentable for company. But then the voices departed, the door closed, and the lock bolted shut. I was just about to call out, to find out what had happened when Timothy poked his head through the bedroom’s door. “Shall we eat in bed or at the table?” he asked. The question sparked my stomach into action. Well, actually not my stomach, although it was empty enough to be enthusiastic about food, but it was actually my legs and the rest of me that launched myself upwards. I seized the lightest covering, wrapped myself with it, and said, “Coming.” Wrong thing to say, I realized with a giggle, but I saw that Timothy had retreated with a huge smile on his face because even if he hadn’t heard my actual response, he’d read it in my mind.
8.29 The Pooka’s Wife
“Bite me again . . . on the opposite side,” I whimpered, full of the intensity of my need. Timothy froze, lifted up, and stared down at me. “I have given you the pooka bite, my darling wife. Why would you want me to bite you again?” he asked. I couldn’t explain it, I simply knew that he must do so. I lifted my lips back to his and with my hands and arms tried to pull him back down. But Timothy was much, much stronger than me. He continued to stare down at me, searching my eyes, trying to understand the need that had come over me. It took him too long to figure out that this was something I really, really wanted. Giving in to my words, at last, he lowered himself back into position and went to work lathing my neck as he had done on our wedding night, only this time he focused on the opposite side. I wiggled from the agony of it, not from the pain or my fear of it hurting, but because something was driving me to make this final connection between us, and I lusted for the feel of his teeth on my neck. A moment later, he bit. The initial pain did cause me to cry out, but in the next second, I was urging Timothy on and savoring the feel of his pooka-laced aphrodisiac. Our sexual encounter was beyond words. Not just the bite, but what came after. We were both heightened in our thirst for what was to come, and the completion we each soon felt sent us flying into ecstasy, far beyond what we’d found before. And when our sweat-strained bodies lay limp with only brief kisses, loving embraces, and whispered words of love, I knew that something had changed between us. I could feel that inside me, could feel the added connection between us, and knew that at last we were completely joined as one. “That was really something,” Timothy breathed into my ear. “What came over you, over us?” I shrugged, not having any understanding really about the pooka world, but I knew that what had driven me had been a necessary conclusion for our linkage. He cuddled me closer, kissed my neck in the place where he’d just bitten me, then moved to kiss the other side. “Do you think I’ll have to bite you again later?” I giggled, in spite of the fact that I was a non-giggler. In fact, I’d always hated women who giggled, contemptuous of such flirtations as I’d viewed them. But what did I know of the world? I giggled a second time. My need had been totally wild, totally crazy, and I . . . “You are you, my darling. Giggles or not. And what we just experienced was wild, but wonderful. You, my sweet wife are absolutely perfect.” He was invading my mind again, seeing all my self-doubts. I started to complain about his invasion into my thoughts when I realized that I could read his: he was feeling guilty for having caused me pain and hoping that the wound wouldn’t scar. “I know your thoughts,” I murmured. “How is that possible? You told me it would happen. You said that I’d be able to read your mind just as you were able to read my thoughts. I remember now. It was all true!”
8.28 The Pooka’s Wife
Our private chamber was almost as big as the grand chamber downstairs, plus luxurious and comfortable with everything needed to make a suite perfect. First, I checked out the bathroom. Modern plumbing, thank you. Running water with hot and cold. A shower big enough to hold our whole crew, not that I planned to shower with werewolves, a thundergod/bird, a pooka, and a Fae. There were limits to friendliness. When I left that room, I walked forward to explore the rest of the suite. We had a lovely balcony that overlooked a vegetable garden with blooming flowers integrated in a design that produced ornate patterns, while producing zucchini and green beans. I stepped out into the balcony, and the smells ascending were vaguely like honeysuckle. Certainly not something the tomatoes over on the other side of the garden plot were sending upwards. I’d always hated the smell of tomato bushes. I left the door of the balcony open and walked back inside. Timothy was in the bathroom, having waited for me to finish my necessary visit and exploration. That gave me a chance to scan the other rooms. The main room held two amazing burgundy leather couches with fluffy brown pillows at the ends and several easy chairs, the kind that curved backwards so you could stretch out your legs. The latter were upholstered in a matching burgundy pattern that no doubt told stories, but would be difficult to “read” if you were sitting down in them. I observed several tables, all with legs ornately carved in the shape of fantasy animal heads: a phoenix, a dragon, and . . . Oh, no! Where had my dragon gone? I’d been holding him, and then . . . The moment Timothy came out, I’d ask him where the baby dragon was. I’d thought I was supposed to be bonded with him. Was he now howling for me, feeling deserted and bereft? He’s with Daniel, Timothy mind-sent from the bathroom, catching my panic. Daniel will make sure he’s fed and cared for. We’ll reunite you two tomorrow, I promise. I sighed heartedly. I felt guilty about being such a poor care-taker, but fatigue had drained me of argument. Sighing, I walked on. There were two bedrooms, both with large beds, much higher than the norm. Neither of the beds were fashioned in a rectangle, like I was used to, but in a square-shape that included overhead tapestry coverings that dangled down on all sides. I pushed one covering aside and looked underneath. I saw pretty normal bedding: coverlets, pillow-cased pillows and . . . “Is this the bedroom you want to use?” Timothy asked, and then without waiting for my response, he slid up behind me, lifted me up, and gently lay me down on the bed. “I need a shower first,” I cried out, but there was no chance for that. Lips were attaching, hands, fingers, and the oh my’s came next. Except, when we were in the midst of the oh my’s, I suddenly realized that I needed something from Timothy that completely made no sense . . .
8.27 The Pooka’s Wife
I don’t know how long I was sagging in Timothy’s arms. He’d carried me inside, and I opened my eyes and saw something unbelievable. If I’d had time to wonder what Queen Moragana’s palace was like, here’s what I would have pictured: concrete gray or white walls with bright colored woolen tapestries that showed unicorns, dragons, or historical scenes from Faeryland. I would have figured on rich scarlet carpeting in a thickness like velvet. I’d might have imagined thrones of gold, mounted high to provide them with the security of prestige and decorated with gems, of course. But when I opened my eyes in the royal chamber, that’s not at all what I saw. No gray or white walls. There were only shimmering reflections from wall to wall to wall. Mirrors everywhere except for the ceiling where, I think there was clear glass because I was looking up at a sky with puffy clouds and birds flying overhead. On the sides of the chamber were trees: blooming trees, trees with fruit and some trees just beautifully bountiful in shades of emerald and forest green. Banners of leaves skimmed the blue sky panel, making it look like Christmas garlands dangling down. I’m not sure but I think those plants were encroaching vines, all healthy and plump with green. If one got near them, would they reach out and grab? Since I’d opened my eyes, Timothy slowly slid me down so that I was standing beside him. “Are you okay, my love?” he asked. I think at that moment, I was absolutely speechless. Expectations, reservations, worries, and stress. I’d been depleted, but then Queen Moragana shot a glance my way and said, “Take her to your old room, Prince Cardarone. I shall have clothing for you both sent up. As for your people, they will be taken care of as well.” That perked me up somewhat. A room? A shower? Fresh clothes? I think I smiled, but I couldn’t be sure. I was too badly wilted to recognize such things. The queen called out to her guard. I watched in awe as he went running over to her, but Timothy had already started us toward a section of the mirror on the left side of the room. He ordered it to open. Nothing fancy. No magic words or anything. A hidden door perfectly followed my husband’s command, folding in on itself to leave us free to walk through. I glanced back at our group, wondering if we should leave them behind, but a gentle push on my back propelled me forward, and the reflective door slowly closed, leaving us in a second huge mirrored chamber. We kept walking, neither of us speaking. I guess Timothy was tired, too. He had been the one who carried me on his back all the way to the palace, and then he’d had to carry me further in his arms. The poor guy must be even more exhausted than I was. I grabbed onto his arm, not for support, this time, but because I wanted to tell him how appreciative I was for everything. “Don’t speak in the halls, darling. It is better to wait until we’re in our private chamber,” he said.
8.26 The Pooka’s Wife
Still, in a couple of minutes, Terry and Bob were standing in front of us, naked as they were, presumably, at their moment of birth. I removed Terry’s jeans, which I’d been wearing under my dress. Ben, who’d packed the rest of the werewolves’ clothes on the coach, walked over and tried to hand them to me. I shook my head, really hoping NOT to see Bob and Terry’s naked bodies. My sweet husband chuckled over that and took the clothes, tossing them into Terry’s hands to be sorted between the two wolves. “So shy. I love it,” Timothy said, dabbing a kiss on my forehead. It had been a couple of days, due to my kidnapping, since we’d been together, and I felt the urge to grab him tightly and secure a proper kiss, but I ignored that flash of hormones and looked down so he wouldn’t see my lustful eyes. I should have known. Of course he would read the desire in my mind. “Soon,” he whispered. Meanwhile, the queens were getting tired of waiting for us. Queen Beatrice tisked making one of those old-fashioned and properly bred kind of aunt noises. Her bracelet made a slingy-snaky sound, which drew my eyes. I’d never noticed her wearing it before, so, of course, I studied it a moment. It wasn’t anything beautiful. The silver links were plain, no jewels, no bling at all. In fact, it suddenly occurred to me that the bracelet was probably some kind of enforcement piece, as in Fae hand cuffs? Queen Moragana shifted in her position next to Queen Beatrice, then ordered, “Enough of this. It is time to enter the palace now.” Without saying anything else, she did an elegant body twist that not only turned her in the direction she wished us to go, but set her in motion toward it. Previously, my senses had been inundated by the smell of pine trees and the acidic smell of lemons found on a solitary bush next to the path, but as we trudged toward the palace, the fragrance of the climbing roses perfumed the air to the point of nausea, rather like an overly scented female on the city bus who had apparently poured on the perfume rather than merely dabbed it on chosen body places. My feet stumbled, and I felt dizzy. Timothy bolstered me with an arm around my waist. I continued on, but I wondered if it was like in the Wiz where heavily scented flowers induced sleep over anyone passing by. Unfortunately as we grew closer to the climbing blooms, I increasingly felt the need to lie down on the path and take forty winks, as my grandmother used to put it. I guess my resistance was low. At one point, Timothy swept me up in his arms and simply carried me the rest of the way into and through the fancy wooden doors of the queen’s palace.
8.25 The Pooka’s Wife
The trip to the court of Queen Moragana was not a difficult path to journey. We didn’t see any other strange creatures or run into more dragons or other dangerous animals. Although the woods were lovely, the birds cheerful and noisy, and the weather perfect for riding, it was a long journey for someone not used to riding a horse (or pooka), plus, the dragon, even though only a baby, seemed to grow weightier as our travel continued and my arms began to ache. We entered through a gate with a solid rock wall that surrounded the area. Guards stood at attention, showing us that the queen had definitely not brought all her forces. Some of the soldiers had obviously remained to protect her estate. The coach passed through the stone barrier first, and we followed directly behind, the two werewolves hugging Timothy’s heels, Daniel, as a hawk or eagle, whatever he was, latched on to the pooka’s mane in front of me. Behind us, the troops of soldiers continued their jogging, however, lowering their long swords in respect for the guards as they passed inside. A moment later, the huge gate slammed shut, and the on-duty guards shuffled back in the front and behind the heavy gate. Once we were through that rather scary part, scary because the eyes of the guards had glared at us, their weapons had pointed in our direction, and they’d looked as if attack was only a sneeze or a nervous cough away. The gardens inside the rock wall were magnificent. Flowers of every color, trees of both pine and deciduous with cascading bowers of green, plus bushes, shrubs, and low-lying creeping vines covered everything that wasn’t in the graveled path we were treading. As we approached the castle, the walls of which were solidly covered with red blooming climbing roses, it was obvious that this was a palace which had hard-working caretakers, unlike Queen Beatrice’s dead and dying gardens. Queen Moragana’ s couch stopped a few feet from the building, and the passengers climbed out. Queen Beatrice’s knees almost gave way as she stepped down. Thankfully, a guard held her up, supporting her until she gained her balance. It was easy to forget that she wasn’t really the age her unwrinkled face showed. Queen Moragana, quite differently, climbed down with her usual grace, smiled back at us, then holding her head high, she marched forward without a bit of evidence of any stiffness from the long ride in close quarters. It is time to dismount, my darling, Timothy said. Daniel hopped down, then instantly transformed back into his naked chested, bead-decorated self. His leather pants clung to a body that was perfectly toned. I looked away, until he stepped closer and raised his hands to take the baby dragon from me. I wished I were as magical as Queen Moragana as I slid off Timothy’s back, but my limbs were feeling chafed, even though Terry had let me wear his pants underneath my dress, and the ache of my muscles forbade the free movement of my lower limbs. I stretched a bit, uncrinking my spine as I stepped further away from my beloved pooka. Timothy, like Daniel, was a speedy shifter. Not so the two werewolves, who moaned and groaned as their bones altered alignment, their muscles shifted, and they writhed with the pain.
8.24 The Pooka’s Wife
Queen Beatrice poked her head out of the other carriage’s window. “She’s a mother? How did that happen? I didn’t notice that she was pregnant.” “No, not like that,” Queen Moragana said, shaking her head at the other queen’s error. “She’s the mother of a baby dragon.” “I see. The human comes with two werewolves, a pooka, a bird of prey, and a dragon. What a wondrous child, especially for a mere human. Although she did spin fantastically, entertaining tales. She taught us: How much wood would a wood chuck chuck. . . Is a wood chuck a dragon? She never told us what . ..” The carriage had once again heaved forward. So whatever Queen Beatrice was going to say next was lost to us. I wanted to yell out that a woodchuck was not a dragon, but the baby dragon was sound a sleep and snoring in my lap. “Daniel, what should I do? Won’t his mother be worried?” It wasn’t Daniel who answered me, though. A soldier had moved up closer, stepping behind Timothy’s rump. Pooka’s, like horses, do not like people walking up behind them. Timothy reeled about, snorted, and showed his teeth. “Easy, there,” the man said. “I only wanted to explain to the young lady that dragons of this age are often cast off. Either the little one makes it on its own, or it dies. Good thing, too. That keeps the kingdom from being overrun by flying lizards.” “That’s horrible,” I cried out, forgetting to be quiet so I wouldn’t awaken the baby. But my voice didn’t seem to bother the little one. He only snuggled closer, purred a moment, then went back to his vibrating snores. Timothy pawed at the ground. We need to catch up with the queen’s carriage, my love, he mind linked with me. Hold on. Without more ado, Daniel shape-changed back into a bird and soared up into the sky, The two werewolves let out joyous howls and leaped away, diving back into the forest on the right side of the path, and the soldier who’d come forward to talk with me, turned about and headed back to his troops. “Sir . . .” I called out, hoping to get more information from the man. Captain, Timothy mind linked. “Captain,” I said, trying to call the soldier back. “What do I feed a baby dragon?” But the captain either didn’t hear me or wasn’t interested in furthering the conversation. Almost immediately, I immediately heard the continuation of the clump, clump as the troops all resumed their jog forward. Since we’d fallen behind, Timothy broke into a slow and easy canter. Although that was a fast pace for me to ride, it was so much easier to to sit than his trot. Still, I used one hand to cling to Timothy’s mane while the other hand tightened about the little sleeping dragon.
8.23 The Pooka’s Wife
“It’s coming closer!” I screamed, which popped Ben’s head out of the coach again. “Daniel, you many have to scare the varmint away,” Ben said. Meanwhile, one of the werewolves came loping over. He growled at the dragon, but didn’t do anything more. The other wolf, Bob, I think, based on the darker color of his coat, leaped at the dragon. Timothy edged back and away, side-stepping carefully in a way that still allowed me to keep my seat on his back, but the dragon dodged both wolves and despite Timothy’s retreat, surged closer. I suddenly felt a wetness on my arm, a wetness that spread even through the long-sleeved cloth of the gown’s sleeves. “Dragons aren’t poisonous, are they?” I asked. “This one just licked me, I think.” The coach with the queen came to a complete, but the soldiers following the queen’s vehicle kept right on coming. In a moment they had surrounded us with their frankly rank-smelling soldier bodies. Swords and knives were out. Attack mode was in the soldiers’ eyes and postures. “Help!” I shrieked, feeling panicked more from the battle-eager troops than from the slimy-tongued creature on the ground beside me. I guess the dragon was feeling a little worried, too, because he bleated loudly, then fluttered his wings once and flew upward, landing on my lap. Before I could push him away, his head lay crushed against my breast, his eyes had shut, and like a small, terrified child he was shaking. I should have felt even more panic from a strange beast having climbed into my lap, but the dragon was clinging timidly and issuing sad, little sobbing sounds. “Back away, everyone,” I yelled. “You’re frightening him.” The soldiers backed. The wolves stopped growling, and Timothy, my pooka husband, froze mid-prance. I started petting the small dragon, trying to soothe him with babytalk like I would a clingy child, one desperate for reassurance in an alarmingly frightening world. Once again, the dragon’s tongue lapped at my sleeve, then he turned suddenly and gave me a kiss on my cheek. It was startling, but not slurpy. I wanted to wipe any moisture away, but I merely cooed louder. Daniel’s bird fluttered off the pooka and landed beside me, changing shape before my eyes. Back in his human pose, he said, “He means you no harm, Penelope.” Although Daniel occasionally entered my mind to communicate something, it was far different than Timothy’s interior voice. This time, Daniel, knowing how I felt about such intrusions simply spoke out loud. The thunderbird/thundergod took a step closer to me, then reached out to touch the dragon’s silvery tail. “He is lost, Penelope, separated from his mother. He thinks you will help him find her,” Daniel said. “Can you toss him down?” Timothy asked, using mind-speech since he was still in his pooka form. The dragon’s claws were sharp as barbed wire, but he was being careful not to hurt me. The suggestion of releasing those claws from the material of my dress and doing what Timothy suggested, I instantly rejected. No one could hurl off a frightened baby. The little one needed me. Besides, we had to find his mother. Daniel had said the dragon was lost. Queen Moragana was peering out at me through the window of her fancy coach. “The dragon has bonded with you, Penelope. Obviously, you no longer need to find his mother. You are his mother.”
8.22 The Pooka’s Wife
Penelope: I suppose I sounded like a brat wanting to rush back to the ship, I told myself. I was with my husband and friends (Although, I must admit that Timothy didn’t like me to call them that. He preferred that I refer to Bob, Terry, Daniel, and Ben as: the team or the crew. But really, the men were more than that; they really were my friends.) Anyway, I was sitting atop my husband who’s a pooka. He looks like an obsidian-black and well-muscled stallion. Of course, since he’s my husband, Timothy doesn’t prance around and try to run away with me like a horse might, because my husband knows that I’m not a good rider. We were just walking. As we treaded down the loveliest path you’ve ever seen with tall redwood trees intermixed, strangely, with full-leaved trees that could be willow or oak or some mixture, but all of them busy reaching to the sky in foresty dimensions, I kept asking myself how this was all possible. Easy. We were plodding along beside a fancy carriage with two queens inside, and the path of our travel was in Faeryland, so I guess one should expect to see yellow daisies beside pink carnations, purple roses, African violets, and a colorful mixture of flowers I’d never seen before and would have trouble even guessing what family they belonged in. I’d also seen furry little creatures with squirrel tales, rabbit ears, and spots of green. It was a whole different world, and as I said, most people would be delighted to visit here. I kept repeating that in my mind, but splotches of fear kept getting in the way. I was honestly afraid of the Fae and their rules and regulations, and scared to death that my babble-mouth or muteness (It goes both ways.) would make me say or do something wrong, and then I’d be sentenced to an ugly cell dungeon cell or at least a long sentence of servitude in Faeryland. So, even though I kept telling myself how lucky I was to see all this . . . Oh, my. “What was that?” I screamed. A small gray creature, well, mostly gray, just decided to pop onto the path. He had an alligator mouth with teeth as sharp as a shark. Timothy, my husband, who has the ability to link minds with me, told me not to be frightened by the creature’s teeth. He added: It’s only a young dragon. “A dragon!” I yelled out, causing Ben, who was currently inside the carriage with the two queens, to poke his head through the open window and peer out at me. “That dragon will not harm you,” Ben said to reassure me, but at that moment a huge bird flapped down to land on Timothy’s neck. I wanted to jump off the pooka and run, but I didn’t, because Ben called out, “It’s only Daniel, Penelope.” As I said, it was a strange world I’d found myself in. I remembered when my life was no more weird than choosing which café to get lunch at or listening to the other secretaries tell me about their encounters in the dating world. And now . . . The bird, or Daniel as he was called in the human world, stroked my fingers with its/his beak. I think that was supposed to be reassurance. I liked Daniel, but his claws were gripping Timothy’s mane, and they looked fully capable of rending flesh. His beak was pointier than a can opener. Darling, nothing and no one will hurt you with us nearby. And the queen will make sure of that as well. Calm yourself. Your heart is beating a tom-tom of rapidity. Easy for Timothy to say, except, perhaps he couldn’t see that the dragon on my right side had just grown a couple of feet taller and was inching closer.