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The Persistent Dragon: The Best-Laid Plans

A gossamer veil of mist hung over the seaside quarter—a ghostly preclude of the encroaching cold front. A flash of silent lightning illuminated the billowy blanket of black clouds far overseas. The weather was turning fouler by the minute, but the soft churning of the surf beyond the docks lessened the melancholy with its sweet serenade. Martin Hutchinson had always loved the ocean. As a boy, the sound of breaking surf was his lullaby; as a young sailor, the endless blue horizon had been his first love. And now in his forties, the ocean was an old friend to sit down next to, share a beer with, and muse over the might-have-beens and if-onlys of the past.

The dragon was late. Hutch didn't know how late, but the city belltower had chimed twice long ago. He tapped the ash off his cigar and passed the time by practicing smoke rings under the moth-crowded gas street lamp. Next to him paced William Sooka: a tepid, beetle-headed man with the twitchiness, intelligence, and stench of a rat. Hutch had met more likable cockroaches, but Sooka came from a family of smiths and their assets were indispensable for the job.

Sooka hunched his shoulders, flapped his wool overcoat, and nervously adjusted his derby for the hundredth time. "Nnng … Hnnng … I dun think the draggin's comin', Hutch."

Hutch let out a testy sigh and said nothing. Sooka breathed through his mouth and talked through his nose, and apparently no one had told him it's supposed to be the other way around.

"It'll come," reassured Lobo, who kept his back turned to the group and looked out onto the docks across the road. "It's a dragon. What kind of dragon would bounce on a job that pays in silver bullion?"

Milo Iberia … everybody called him "Lobo" and nobody dared ask why. Tall, brawny, and hairy as an ox, he was an ex-opium smuggler, the captain of his own clipper until he was forced to scuttle her after a run-in with the Royal Navy. With the ship at the bottom of the ocean, the Magistrate of Maritime Affairs was embarrassingly unable to prove possession of contraband, and Lobo walked free after serving six months for accessory charges. Lobo knew his way around the law and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty—two things he and Hutch shared in common.

"I … I dunno," grumbled Sooka. "Maybe the draggin fergot. Or chickened out. 'Cause yaknow, Hutch, I-I-I've been thinkin'—"

"Shaddup, Sooka!" Hutch growled. "I don't pay you to think, I pay you to melt down the silver and stamp it into coins." Hutch then froze as he noticed the clopping of cleanly-shod hooves from afar. Not many reasons for a man to be out on horseback at this hour. "Stand up straight and kick the mud off your boots, boys," he muttered. "We got a copper on his rounds."

Emerging from the fog like an apparition, the mounted police officer cantered up to the three men in a slow, relaxed gait. His pressed uniform was as sharply-tailored as his mustache, and his meticulously-groomed horse knickered softly as he was guided to a stop.

Hutch tipped his bowler hat. "Evenin', Constable."

The officer bowed his head. "Gentlemen. May I ask why you three are out this late, standing at a street corner with nowhere to go?"

Hutch forced a friendly laugh. "Certainly. Me and the boys here work the docks across the street. Got a couple'a windjammers comin' in on the morn—twenty two hundred tonners. We gotta square away the warehouse and clear some floorspace b'fore sunrise. Just waitin' on our dragon at present; we need 'im for the heavy lifting."

The police officer nodded. "And who is your employer?"

"That would be the Beretti Mountains Trading Company, Constable. I, uh … have my punchcard with me, somewhere …" Hutch made a show of patting himself down. "Ah, here it is."

The police officer held a hand up to let him know it wasn't necessary. "The BMTC, eh? Owned and operated by Desmond Broyal himself. I met the man once, at the Chief of Police's garden party. That sort of work pay well?"

Hutch smiled. "Not well enough, Constable, though we're expectin' the extra hours to earn us a bonus."

"If Mr. Broyal is reasonable man, he'll reward hard work with due dilligence. Well then, as you were." The officer hitched his horse and continued on.

"Thank you, Constable, and a good evenin' to ye," Hutch called out, grinning ear-to-ear.

"You get off to that shit, Hutch," muttered Lobo, when the policeman was out of ear-shot. He turned to face Hutch, his lips looking like he had just sucked a lemon. "You're a twisted son of a bitch, you know that?"

Hutch puffed his cigar. "It's all part of the game, Lobo. I'm settin' up our alibi."

"That's exactly my point: you treat it as a game. One of these days you'll talk yourself into trouble. And then we'll all pay for it."

Hutch took a long draw and blew a smoke ring in Lobo's unshaven face, causing the latter to growl like a dog. "Lobo, would it kill you to lighten up a bit? I am a man of a careful nature. We wouldn't be running this con if I hadn't planned out every detail. And talking to that copper was a part of the job."

"Hmph." Lobo turned away and leaned back against the lamp post with arms folded over his chest.

Sooka wiped his nose on the back of his hand and snorted. "I still don'ts know why we gots to get a whole draggin this time … why not just get another bottle of dragginfire oil? Worked just s'well last week."

Hutch took a long draw of his cigar. "Yer not thinkin' smart, Sooka. I got the old bull convinced it's a dragon stealing his silver … so now, we're gonna give 'em a dragon. Come daybreak, the coppers'll track some dragon prints, a find shed scale or two. And then they'll be lookin' for a dragon. But they won't find 'em …" Hutch padded the .44 revolver holstered inside his overcoat. "Not unless they dredge the docks."

"What about the bitch that owns it?" muttered Lobo. "When the dragon doesn't come home, she'll finger us for sure."

"And she'll be buggered to prove it. Dragons get on the wrong side of the law all the time. So who're the coppers gonna believe, huh? Some daft totty with a lot fulla trouble-makin' lizards, or the testimony of three upstanding, law-abiding citizens who attest that a greedy drake stole the silver out from under their noses?"

"Dang, that's … that's awful smart, Hutch."

Hutch swatted Sooka on the forehead, forcing his worn derby down over his eyes. "Damn right it's smart, that's why I'm in charge!"

"Hey!" Sooka yanked his hat off to inspect it for damage. "So … so's how much we gonna lift this time?"

"As much as the dragon can carry and still walk. What do you reckon, Lobo? Two, three hundred pounds?"

Lobo shrugged. "Depends on the breed."

"Well at any rate, we take only enough to make Des Broyal nervous." Hutch paused. "You know, after the last break-in, he says to me … 'Can't afford to employ a night guard, Hutch. The upkeep's just not worth it.' Well … the ol' bull will change his tune after tonight. And guess who's the Dock Supervisor that'll be in charge of hiring security." Hutch smiled, letting cigar smoke waft out from between his open lips.

"We're gonna be rich!" cheered Sooka.

Lobo closed his eyes and smirked. "No, more than rich … we'll be set for life."

"Easy, boys. We keep at this long enough and we can hitch a one-way ride to Akkadia on a ship-full of silver. And then it's nothing but bitches, beer, and blackjack for the rest of our days."

"Aye! I'll drink to that!" Sooka pulled a pewter hip flask from his vest pocket and raised it to his lips.

Lobo swatted the flask out of Sooka's hands, and the contents splashed onto the cobblestone street. "Idiot! You damn well better not take so much as a sip while we're on the job!"

Sooka cowered, as if he had suddenly shrunk in size. "But it was just—"

Lobo grabbed a fistful of coat and got in Sooka's face. "Wiskey'll muddle the mind and the senses. We do this clean and quick, you hear? No slip-ups, no room for error."

Whimpering, Sooka looked to Hutch for reassurance, but Hutch refused to meet his gaze and chose instead to puff on his cigar. "Lobo's right, Sooka. A lot could go wrong with a dragon on-hand. You'll need your wits about you … if you have any to begin with," he added, under his breath.

The sound of flapping wings could be heard in the night, and with a whooshing gust of wind, a dragon touched down in the street and folded its expansive wings close against its body. Hutch had no idea what kind of dragon this was, nor did he care … as long as it had enough brains to follow orders. The scaly creature could match a donkey at the shoulders, but from its neck to its lengthy tail, it measured twice as long as a man was high. Its turquoise scales flashed with a waxy veneer under the orange glow of the lightpost, and both its ears and cheek fins ended in vibrant sky blue tips.

Hutch chewed on his cigar stub and puffed smoke from his nose. "Hell … it's about time."

"Looks like one of them smaller breeds, like the kind rich folk keep as pets …" muttered Lobo. "Good, they're easier to manage."

The dragon's sapphire irises flicked back and forth between the three men with an intelligent, perceptive gaze. "Good evening, gentlemen, and I apologize for my tardiness. My name is Jasper. It is my pleasure to be of service." The creature bowed its head, and its well-polished grey horns flashed a glint of lamplight.

Hutch laughed and jabbed Sooka with his elbow. "Powder me up and slap me two times! This dragon's more well-spoken than you, Sooka!"

Sooka shoved Hutch off. "Hey, that's not true! I gots a real good voca … vocablur … I know a lotta words."

The dragon cocked its head. "Did I hear something about a dragon being trouble? I assure you that I'll perform to my best abilities, whatever the job may be."

Hutch waved him off. "Ah, that ain't nothin' but small-talk. Come on boys, let's roll." The three budged from the street corner and took off past the dragon. into the night.

The drake was quick to catch up and trotted aside Hutch's left. "Err, exactly where are we going, anyway? And what sort of duties does my job entail?"

"Yer gonna help us move some silver …" Hutch said, grinning. He took one last draw of his cigar and flicked it onto the curb. "Lots and lots of silver …"

—=-=—

"Jake … Jaaaaake!"

Jacob was nudged to arousal by a cold snout against his cheek. "Urf … what?" He opened his eyes to find himself in a dragon's embrace, clutched tight against a scaly chest. Penelope let go of him and stood up, inadvertently rolling Jacob onto the cold concrete floor. "Hey! Cripes … how long have I been asleep for?" Sitting up, he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He pulled out his pocket watch but couldn't read the pearlescent clock face in the darkness.

"Shh!" Penelope froze, ears standing at attention. "I heard voices outside by the door."

Jacob's spine went rigid. "What?!" he hissed. He looked around the pitch-black warehouse, but could hardly see his own hands. He felt the ground around him for his extinguished lantern and fumble for a match. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Jacob felt a woosh of air, and suddenly the dragon's wings were wrapped tight around him. "Jake, I'm scared." she hissed into his left ear. "What if they're bad guys?

Jacob chuckled. "I dunno, Nel … they're probably some drunk hobos or something."

"Can you go check for me? Pleeeeease?"

"What?! You're supposed to be the guard dragon, not me!"

"But I'm scare-red!"

"Ugh! Fine …" Jacob stood up and turned in place. The rumble of thunder echoed in the cavernous warehouse, and the light plink-plink-plink of drizzle drummed against the tin rooftop. In the distance, Jacob could barely make out a strip of dim light on the ground: the space between the warehouse doors and the floor, probably some peeking moonlight. Jacob struck a match and lit his lantern, keeping the wick low to preserve his night vision. He crept across the concrete floor, past endless rows of shelves and barrels, with only silence as his company. Jacob arrived at the extra-wide cargo loading ramp, expecting to find absolutely nothing. He put an ear to the crack between the double doors, feeling a steady billow of salty sea air on his cheek. Outside, Jacob heard voices from afar and caught his breath.

"Goddammit, Sooka, it's a god dammed miracle that you can even put your shoes on without fucking it up! I swear, one of these days you'll forget how to breathe!"

"B-b-but it was here, Hutch! The cart, I put it here at the end of my shift. Somebody musta moved it!"

"Calm down, Hutch."

"I am fucking calm, Lobo!"

"You're screaming. Someone could hear you."

One … two … three distinct voices: one raspy, like that of a smoker. One deep like a baritone singer. And one irritatingly nasally. All adult men. They bickered with the lingering drawl of a lower-slums accent … but they articulated clearly enough to rule out being drunk. And if they were worried about people hearing them … these men were definitely up to no good. Jacob's heart quickened, his mined raced for what to do. A passing thought wandered to his pocket knife, still in the back pocket of his pants. A pitiful thing, no more than three inches long … it would be no use in a gunfight.

"Maybe someone wheeled it inside since it's supposed to rain tonight …" The deep voice mumbled.

"You know what, that's not a bad guess. Let's find out …"

The glow coming from under the door grew brighter, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. Jacob's face went pale when he heard the jangle of chains and keys from outside. He clung to the wall and shimmied away just as the latch was thrown and the double doors pulled open. Orange light briefly filled the warehouse.

"Shit!"

The doors slammed shut with a crashing thud, shrouding the warehouse in darkness once more.

"What, what?"

"There's a dragon inside!"

"Whatcha mean, a draggin?"

"I mean ... there's a fucking dragon inside the fucking warehouse, Sooka! Des Broyal must've wizened up and hired a dragon to protect Secure Storage."

"So what if there's a dragon?" the deep voice scoffed. "I can shoot it."

The raspy voice laughed. "You wanna fight a dragon, Lobo? Its breath can roast a man from thirty paces. Its claws can rip yer stomach out in a single swipe. Its teeth can snap bones with one chomp. Hell, it's probably pacing in front of the door as we speak, ready to pounce! So good luck, Lobo: if you can't kill it in your first few seconds … yer a dead man."

The raspy voice's words followed were followed by an uncomfortable silence.

"What're you packing, anyway?" The same voice asked.

".38 special," the low voice replied. "Should be strong enough to punch through a dragon's scales."

"Dragonhide is pretty tough, Lobo … are you sure?"

More silence.

"Give me your .44."

"Nah, I got a better idea. No dragon frets another dragon's fire …"

"He's spineless, Hutch. He doesn't even want a share of the silver, now that he knows we're stealing it."

"If he won't do it, then we'll make him do it," the raspy voice growled.

"Um, gentlemen?" someone squeaked—from the pronunciation, Jacob instantly identified the owner as a dragon. In fact, the voice's unique timbre reminded him of Jasper, only higher-pitched. "Can we … just go home and forget this ever happened?"

"I told you, he won't do it. The damn bitch leased us a yellow-bellied dragon."

"Listen here, you scaly little chicken. You're going to go in there and kill that dragon for us."

"Kill? I could never kill someone!"

The raspy voice let out a cold, emotionless laugh. "Well that's a shame … because with no cart to pull, you're of no use to us, dragon. Hell, if you won't fight, we might as well just kill you, first." Jacob heard the click of a revolver being cocked. "So which will it be, drake? Fight or die?"

"But I … I don't even know how to fight!"

BAM!

Jacob jumped in place as the gunshot deafened his ears.

The dragon yelped—apparently from fright and not pain. "Okay okay, I'll fight!"

"Are you sure, drake?" The dragon grunted in pain—like the sound Penelope made when her horns were yanked hard. "Because to be honest: I'm starting to think I'd rather just shoot you, seeing as you've been an acting like an lily-livered little snitch the moment we filled you in on the job."

"No! No no no no no! No shooting! No snitching! Just give me a chance!"

"Now you're talking. Maybe … just maybe, if you redeem yerself, I'll let you live to see the 'morrow. Now get in there!"

Jacob bolted away from the door, and in his fright forgot his lantern. "Penelope, Penelope!" he hissed in the darkness. Twice he ran into storage crates and bruised both shins. Jacob navigated the aisles of staked crates and found his dragon cowering in the very back, with a wing over her head. He came to a sliding stop on his knees and shook her. "Penelope, they got a dragon, too! And they're sending it in to fight you!"

Penelope quivered in place, wrapping her wings even tighter around herself. "I don't wanna fight anyone, Jake!" Behind Jacob, the double doors of the warehouse opened wide, filling the room with lantern light once more. Icy dread filled Jacob's lungs.

"You're not going to believe this, but I think it might be Ja—"

A thundering draconic roar filled the warehouse, echoing off the tin roof and causing Jacob's hair to stand on-end. Never mind, Jacob thought: that must be another dragon … there was no way a drake as genteel as Jasper could make such a primal, bestial bellow.

Penelope whimpered and quaked. The doors closed, shrouding the warehouse in darkness once again. The sound of loping dragon paws approached. Something hard and scaly shoved Jacob into the brick wall, which he hit head-first and fell to the ground, dazed. In the darkness, he heard the snarls and screams of dragons, the crashing of crates and barrels being knocked on their side. Jacob tried to yell, but could not find his voice.

But then, the warehouse bloomed with a blast of intense heat and light, and for a precious few seconds, he saw her: Penelope stood on her hind legs, breathing dragonfire down onto her assailant. Her pupils had constricted to slits, her fins lay flat against her neck for protection, and she held her sharp claws out, ready to swipe. The dragoness had found her instincts—one of those fight-or-flight responses Jacob read about in his psychology class. At once, Jacob was both relieved and horrified; he had never before seen Penelope look so terrifyingly feral.

After the blast of fire lit up the room, Jacob had lost his night vision and could not see a thing. But from the sounds of snarls and grunts, the dragons continued to fight with no loss of function. The two carried their tussle down the main aisle of the warehouse, knocking open countless crates with errant claw swipes and lashing tails. Flashes of fire bloomed, casting long shadows against the walls of stock and cargo. A bestial scream sounded out, followed by the creaking of iron as a shelf teetered. Jacob saw only moving shadows as a tower of barrels came crashing down. He heard the snapping of wood, followed by what sounded like millions of cascading beads. Jacob yelled Penelope's name, but the clamor was so loud he could not even hear his own voice.

And then … the warehouse grew still.

Jacob did not dare speak up in the lull, lest the assailing dragon find a new target. The air hung heavy with a deafening silence, and the only thing Jacob could hear was the sound of his racing heart in his ears.

"J-jasper?"

Penelope's quivering voice broke the lull, and Jacob fell back against the wall in relief. She was alive!

"Penelope?" Jacob heard one of the dragons give the air a thorough sniffing. "Oh … oh dear, that is your scent!"

"Jasper … it hurts."

"A-a-are you okay, my dear?!"

"I don't know …"

"Jasper!" Jacob called out in the darkness.

"Jacob?! You too? What are you two doing out here?"

"We were protecting my Father's silver, for cripes' sake!" Jacob angrily yelled. "What did you do to Penelope?! Why didn't you stop earlier?"

"I … I was forced to, Jacob! These humans outside threatened to kill me if I didn't attack! And … and as soon as Penelope hit me back, it was like something terrible took hold of me and I couldn't control myself! Oh dear, oh dear … what have I done?"

Jacob scrambled to his feet. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know! She's trapped under some barrels!"

"My wing hurts ..."

Jacob swore. With his right hand on the wall, he felt his way back to the entrance. In his panic, he knocked over his lantern as he lunged for it, then scrambled to pick it up before the oil leaked out. He then rushed to the center aisle to see what had happened to his dragon.

Penelope lay half-buried under a mountain of broken barrels and dried nuts. Standing next to her with a bleeding neck and face, Jasper looked on in horror. He limped forward, favoring his right foreleg. "Jacob … I'm so sorry. Truly, I am!"

"Oh god, Penelope! Jasper, let's get her out!"

"Right, right!"

Together the two dug the dragoness out from the wreckage. Penelope lay on her right flank, and her left wing had taken the brunt of the weight. Her slender, bony dactyls lay snapped and mangled. The dragoness attempted to sit up and cried out in pain.

"Don't move, Nel!" Jacob reassured her. "Your wing is broken. Try to stay calm!"

"Jaaake …" Penelope whined. Her claws grasped at the concrete floor, leaving marks. "It hurts a lot."

"What the fuck is going on?!" a raspy voice shouted.

Jacob froze. The doors to the warehouse had been re-opened, and Jacob saw three men. Two of them held revolvers in their hands. The man in the lead also carried a lantern. He stood in a well-worn wool overcoat and bowler hat. A short mustache hung off his gaunt face, and a pair of harsh dark eyes stared out from deep sockets. He stormed forward, gun raised. "Good work, drake. You've done enough; let us finish the job." He aimed his gun at Penelope's forehead.

"No!" Both Jacob and Jasper bolted up and stood in front of Penelope. "You can't!" Jasper pleaded. "I know her, we're good friends!"

"And she belongs to me!" Jacob added.

The man in the lead froze. He turned his revolver toward Jacob, his featured contorted in confusion. "Okay … who the fuck are you?"

Jacob swallowed down his fear. "I, uh …"

"Start talking, sonny, unless you want a bullet in your brain."

"My name is Jacob Broyal. Penelope's my dra—"

"Wait wait wait … did you just say … Broyal? As in, Des Broyal's kid?" He lowered his gun, laughing in disbelief. "Do you take me for a fool? Broyal's not stupid enough to send his own kid out to guard Secure Storage. No …" he raised his revolver and cocked it. "What's your real name?"

"That is my name! And he didn't send me, I came to keep my dragon company!" Jacob asserted.

"Hutch, I think he's telling the truth …" the man on his right muttered: a tall bearded man with the baritone voice. He lowered his gun, looking like he had seen a ghost. "That's definitely Broyal's dragon, there on the ground. I've seen it before, delivering the ships' manifests to the offices downtown when they need auditing or revision. If this boy is really his son … we're in a load of trouble."

The man known as Hutch looked at his partner, then to Jacob, then to his partner again. He began to tremble, like a covered pot of boiling water. He held his hands up for space. "Alright, we need to talk. You three," he thrust a finger at Jacob and the dragons. "Don't fucking move." He turned around and stormed out of the warehouse, and his partners soon followed.

Jacob looked to Jasper, who seemed ready to faint out of fright. "Do you think I shouldn't have told them my name?"

The drake shook his head. "I don't know, Jacob … and I don't think it matters anymore."

"Jaaake …" Penelope moaned. The dragon looked ready to cry.

Jacob rushed back to her. He took her large paw in his hands. "Penelope, try to stay calm."

"But Jake …" Penelope looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. "It hurts a lot," she squeaked.

Seeing his dragon in this much pain broke Jacob's heart. "You've got to be brave, Nel. Do it for me, okay?" He squeezed her paw.

The dragoness meekly nodded.

"Jacob, what should we do?" Jasper asked.

Jacob raised his head. "I'm not sure. There's only one way out of this place, and those men are standing right in front of it." He paused in thought. "If they want the silver, they can take it. They can take anything as long as they let us live."

"But will they let us live?" Jasper wondered.

Jacob had no answer for that, and let the question hang in the air.

Minutes later, the doors opened again. "You: blue dragon. Follow me. Lobo, keep an eye on the other two, make sure they don't try anything stupid."

"Sure thing." The tall bearded man kept his revolver pointed at Penelope.

Jasper limped over to Hutch and the two approached Secure Storage. Staying a safe distance away, Hutch pointed at the massive iron padlock. "Melt this lock off."

"A-a-allright …" Jasper took a deep breath and spewed fire over the lock, and the warehouse lit up with an orange glow. Melting the lock required over a minute of sustained heat, and by the time it fell to the ground in a puddle of molten iron, Jasper was drooling and wheezing from light-headedness. Hutch took a bucket of seawater and threw it over the metal latch to cool it, then grabbed it through his overcoat and yanked the heavy door open. Inside stood over a dozen crates, each as tall and wide as a stagecoach wheel. "Now burn these crates," Hutch ordered. Jasper obliged, and when they had charred enough to look like the work of a dragon, he doused the crates in seawater, took a crowbar, and pried the brittle wood off, revealing upon rows of stamped silver bars glimmering in the lamplight.

"Howzit look, boss?" Lobo asked.

Hutch gazed upon his prize with lust. "Like the most beautiful dame I've ever laid eyes upon. Alright, Lobo: take them outside, to the pier."

Lobo nodded toward the doors. "You heard him: get your dragon up and march outside."

"But Penelope's hurt!" Jacob protested.

Lobo raised his gun. "I don't care. Get her to her feet and follow me. And take it nice and slow … no sudden moves, or I'll shoot."

Penelope struggled to rise. She cried out in pain as her broken wing shifted around. "I can't get up. My wing hurts too much!"

Jacob caressed her cheeks. "You gotta try, Nel … be brave, remember?"

Gingerly, Jacob helped Penelope to her feet, causing the dragon excruciating pain. The robbers kept a safe distance from Penelope and Jasper—out of range of their fire breath—and forced Jacob and his dragon down to the piers, where the churning sea lay waiting. The air had grown cold, and a blustering wind churned the frothing seawater below. Cold raindrops fell on Jacob's shoulders and head. None of the robbers said a word, and the silence alone told Jacob enough.

The three men stood in a line. Hutch stepped forward, jabbing his revolver into Jacob's chest. "Now start walking down that pier." Jacob was forced to back up, and a whimpering Penelope followed.

Jasper's eyes darted between the two men. "Wait wait—you're not going to—" He gasped. "Oh dear, don't do this, please! These two are my friends."

"Shaddup, drake!" Hutch growled. "Unless you wanna be next."

"Jake …" Penelope whimpered. "What's going on? Are they going to … kill us?"

Jacob's throat tightened. "Yes, Penelope."

Penelope gasped. "No, please!"

"Look, my father is very rich …" Jacob began, his voice quivering in the air. "He'd be willing to pay handsomely for my safe return."

"What, and give him a chance to drag the police into this?" Hutch laughed. "No. Not when you've already seen our faces. Your daddy's a dangerous man … and I know that only too well. Keep walking!"

Jacob backed up further. "Think how mad my father will be if you kill us! He won't sleep until he has you all hunted down!"

Hutch shook his head. "A ransom would blow our cover. We got 'im thinkin' it's a dragon breakin' into his stores at night. And as long as no one finds your bodies … it'll stay that way."

"We won't tell a soul! We'll do anything—even corroborate your story. We'll tell the police we were attacked by dragons!"

Hutch removed his hat and put it to his chest in a mock show of sympathy. "And I wish I could believe that, boy, I really could. But the moment you leave this dock alive is the moment we can't control what you say."

Jasper stepped in front of Hutch and raised a wing between him and Jacob. "I won't let you kill them."

Lobo placed the end of his revolver against Jasper's forehead. "You might want to reconsider your words, drake."

Jasper's eyes widened. His claws dug into the wooden pier, and his jaw muscles tensed. But with a gun to his head, the dragon could not find his courage and slowly lowered his wing.

"Now get back," Lobo warned. "Far back." Jasper backed down to the next pier over—a good thirty feet away.

"No … no!" Penelope huffed. She took a step forward. "Don't shoot us. At least … let Jake live!"

"That's not how this ends, dragon," Hutch warned. "No witnesses."

Jacob steeled himself. He shut his eyes tight. "Penelope … I guess this is goodbye. I'm sorry."

"No!" Penelope shrieked.

"Shoot 'em, Lobo."

BAM! BA-BAM!

Something heavy knocked Jacob from the left, and he was tackled to the ground. Bright lights flashed in his vision as his head whiplashed and smacked against wooden planks of the pier. In the distance, somewhere, he heard the sounds of fighting: gunfire, yelling, and growling. A flash of warm light briefly lit up the darkness.

Had he been shot? Jacob's head throbbed with pain, but he otherwise felt fine. He put a hand to the heavy weight on his chest, which felt wet and scaly. Groaning in pain, he mumbled for Penelope to get off, but the dragon did not move. Another burst of warm light sparked in the distance, and about thirty feet away he saw Jasper breathing fire. A man screamed. More gunfire. Then everything was dark again.

"Urg, Penelope, get offa me!" Jacob tried to push her up.

His dragon did not answer. She wheezed and gurgled with every breath. Jacob's eyes shot open wide.

"Penelope!" Jacob crawled out from underneath his dragon. The robber's lantern was on the ground, its glass broken but the flame still burning. He scrambled for it and illuminated Penelope's sprawled-out form. Blood trickled in between her scales in tiny little rivers, pouring from three terrible holes in her left flank: one near the front of her chest, one in her left flank, and one in her rump.

Jacob's face went pale. "Oh god, oh god, Penelope!"

Penelope coughed and gasped for air. "Jake …" she whispered, looking up at him with a miserable expression. "Are you … okay?" The dragon fought for every word.

"Cripes, dragon!" Even after being shot, her first thought was his safety, of all things! Penelope attempted to sit herself up, but Jacob eased her down. "Yes, I'm fine! Easy, easy! Lay still."

"Jake …" Penelope wheezed "It hurts to breathe."

Jacob put his hand to his mouth. "Oh god, oh god … what do I do?!" He could not pull his eyes from the terrible sight of blood pouring from those holes in her body. His mind wanted to believe it wasn't real, like it was all some form of terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Penelope coughed up frothy, bubbly blood.

A tiny voice stirred in the back of Jacob's mind. Do something, it whispered. She needs help.

"Jasper …" Jacob whispered to himself. He stood up. "Jasper!" he called out into the darkness, which had by now grown silent. "Penelope's been shot! Jasper?" He stood up and ran down the pier, searching for the drake in the ink of night.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear …" That was Jasper's voice. Jacob ran towards it. He shone the lantern on the aquamarine drake, who paced erratically, quivering as if he was cold. Blood ran down his jaws, and his claws were stained with more red. He was bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder and left foreleg. Another bullet had lodged its self in the muscle of his neck, missing his major veins by millimeters. And his right horn had a chunk blown off it, with deep cracks running down near the base.

"Jasper!"

The drake paid Jacob no attention, pacing and muttering as if he was in his own little world.

"Jasper! We need to get help for Penelope, quick!"

Jasper puffed air rapidly. He avoided Jacob's eyes. "I … I killed them, I killed them! When they started shooting, I … I knew I had to do something, but … when I breathed fire, their screams in my ears … and the blood, their blood … I tasted it, felt it run down my throat. But … but, I couldn't just let them keep shooting! I had to … I had to …"

Jacob got his face. "Get a hold of yourself, Jasper!" he growled. "Penelope is hurt, we need to get help!"

Jasper's eyes teared up. "I killed them, Jacob! Don't you see? I killed three men."

Jacob took the dragon by his one good horn and slapped his cheek. "Snap out of it, Jasper! Penelope has been shot, and we have to save her! Do you understand what I am saying?!"

The drake's blue eyes took a moment to focus on Jacob's face. "Oh … oh dear. Oh dear! R-right, right! I'm sorry!" Jacob let go of Jasper and led him over to Penelope. When Jasper saw her, bleeding onto the wet wooden pier, he shrieked in horror. "Penelope? Are you okay? Oh dear, what do we do, what do we do?"

The drake began to pace once more, and Jacob was force to take him by the horns again. "Focus, Jasper! We need to call a hospital, or the police, or … someone, anyone!"

"We can't: there's no telephone booth near the docks."

"Then we go find one!" Jacob shouted.

"Wait, wait …" Jasper took a step forward and had a closer look at Penelope. She was struggling for every breath, making the most awful of gagging noises. "Penelope, where does it hurt?"

The dragoness opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out: only frothy blood. The drake let out a gasp. "I … I've seen this before. She's shot in the lungs!" he quickly turned to Jacob. "Listen carefully: she can't draw a breath because her lungs leak air into her chest. We've got to release that air, or she'll suffocate before help arrives!"

Jacob furrowed his brow in confusion. How did the drake even know that? "How do we help her?"

Jasper took in a deep breath. "You'll need a knife. Find a spot between her ribs, under her armpit. Insert it between her scutes, and open the wound enough to let the air escape."

"You want me to stab her!?" Jacob shrieked.

"Trust me, Jacob! My former keeper, I watched him save a mugged woman's life with this trick, using nothing but a pen knife in a back alleyway! He cut under her armpit to release the air in her chest and breathed into her mouth until the ambulance arrived!"

Suddenly, everything Jasper had ever mentioned about his former owner came rushing back to Jacob's memory: his keeper's extreme wealth, their shared interest in science and books, how he currently taught at the University, but used to be out in "the field" …

Jasper's former keeper must be a doctor.

Jacob's head whirled up to meet Jasper's gaze. "Your old keeper, where does he live?" he demanded.

Jasper blinked several times. "I … I … I think not far from here, actually! Just downtown!"

"Go get him!"

"Good idea!" Jasper nodded. "A-a-are you sure you don't need my help?"

Jacob closed his eyes pulled the folding pocket knife from his belt. He looked at the sharp blade with and steeled his resolve. "Fly, drake. I'll handle this."

"Right, right! Good luck, Jacob … and be very careful: don't stab too deep. No more than an inch or so."

Jasper took off in flurry, taking to the air with a swoop of his wings. Within a few moments he was gone, his form having melted into the dark of night. And then Jacob was alone with his dying dragon.

Jacob knelt down next to Penelope, feeling for a space between her ribs. He traced the shallow furrow until he came to a split between her belly scutes, under which the tiniest bit of soft, whitish skin could be found. Just behind the armpit, like Jasper had instructed. Penelope clawed scratch marks into the dock pier as she tried in vain to take a breath. Strained gasps came from her throat as her lungs refused to fill with air. The sound was torture to Jacob's ears.

With trembling hands, Jacob brought the tip of his knife to Penelope's side, and gently placed the tip in that tiny crease between her scutes.

The dragon looked up at him, her blue eyes wild with fear.

"Penelope," he whimpered. "I'm sorry." He jammed the knife down, and felt the blade slide between her ribs. And then he slowly twisted the knife, forcing the wound to widen. A jet of warm air forced its self out of the bleeding puncture, escaping in a long hiss. Within a few seconds the air slowly fizzled out, followed by bloody bubbles.

And as that air escaped, Jacob heard the dragon take a real, actual breath for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"Nel!" Jacob cried in relief, and immediately took her head in his hands. The dragon continued to cough and gurgle … but she was breathing, by god, she was breathing! "Nel, are you alright?!"

"I … don't know …" she whispered, coughing once more.

Jacob let out a cry of relief. She could speak again! "Oh my god! Nel!" He cradled her head in his hands. "Thank goodness!"

The dragon spit up blood. More dribbled from the corners of her mouth. "Jake … it hurts so much …"

Jacob caressed the dragon's cheek. "I know it does, but we're not done yet. I … I think I need to do your other side." Jacob wasn't sure if that was true, but with Penelope's life on the line, he had to wager on the safe side.

"My other …?" The dragoness let out a whine and met eyes. The look of fear she wore nearly broke Jacob's heart.

Trying hard not to lose his composure, Jacob gently rubbed the dragon's snout with affection. "Penelope, sometimes … sometimes when you get hurt real bad, it has to hurt just a little bit more before it starts getting better. Do you understand?"

"But it already hurts a lot, Jake …"

"I know it does, Penelope. Right now, you have to be brave for me, okay? Can you do that?"

Penelope let out a tiny whimper and nodded.

Jacob did his best to roll the dragon onto her back, an act which caused her to cry out in pain as her broken wing was moved. On her right flank, Jacob saw a small lump just below her scales. He put a finger to it, feeling the lead bullet underneath. Her scales had stopped the bullet from traveling through her body completely and into Jacob's chest.

She had protected him … at a great cost.

Penelope wheezed louder and louder. Bubbly blood continued to gather at the corners of her mouth. Jacob found a spot to insert his knife and steeled his resolve. "I'm so sorry, Nel …" He shut his eyes tight, and tears streamed down his face as he pushed the blade between her scutes.

He heard Penelope cry out in pain, which was followed by another long hiss of air that was purged from her chest. Penelope gagged and coughed some more, but what followed filled Jacob with hope: the sound of her taking in a long, full breath. She fought for every ounce of air even as the act brought her much pain.

Jacob threw his knife onto the ground and once again took the dragon's head in his hands. "That's all, we're done. No more."

"Jake …" The bleeding dragon looked up at him, coughing up frothy blood.

"Save your strength. Just keep breathing. Take slow, long breaths … there you go."

"Jake ... I feel … cold." She coughed and shuddered. Blood poured onto the pier.

"Hold on, Nel. Just stay with me! Jasper's run to get a doctor. He'll be back soon."

Penelope shut her eyes tight, forcing tears down her cheeks. "I … I'm scared"

Jacob took one of her large feet in his hands. He held on tight. "It's okay. I'm scared too. We'll get through this."

Penelope rested her head on the ground and closed her eyes. For several minutes Jacob sat there in silence, unsure of how else to comfort her. Stroking her cheek and neck in affection, he paid careful attention to the sounds of her breathing, which were labored, shallow, and wheezy. Eventually, the dragon let out a whimper. "It's … getting hard to breathe again." She shut her eyes tight. "Please don't use the knife anymore. It hurts."

"I …" Jacob's throat quivered. "I … I won't, Nel. When the doctor gets here, he'll be able to make you better. Just hold on."

"Jake …" the dragon shut her eyes tight, and tears ran down her cheek. "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die! Just … cripes!" Jacob fought back his tears. "I'm not going to let you die!"

"I … can't see." Penelope's eyes fluttered. Her wild, frantic gaze scanned her surroundings. "I can't see you, Jake," she whispered.

Jacob closed his eyes as more tears streamed down his face. Every word out of the dragon's mouth brought more misery and dread. "Nel … when the doctor gets here he'll be able to fix you, so just hold on, okay? He'll get here and make you better, I promise. He'll fix your lungs, he'll take out your bullets, and he'll patch you up. And then we can all go back home, and we can forget about tonight and what happened. I'll ask my father to stop being so damn stingy and hire a security team for once, and you'll … you'll never have to do this again! We can sit in the backyard and spend time together, read books, ride trails, and … and hell, you can tackle me for a romp every day if you want!" He let out a little laugh. "How does that sound, huh? Nel?"

Penelope's eyes had closed.

"Penelope! Penelope?"

The dragon lay still.

The color drained form Jacob's cheeks. In that one single moment, time seemed to stop for him, as if some sadistic power wished to make the horrible, terrible moment linger for more than it should.

"Penelope … PENELOPE!"

Jacob shook the dragon. Her eyes would not open, her mouth did not move. Her tail lay motionless and her legs were still.

"Oh god, oh god, don't do this, Nel!" Jacob shook Penelope, but she had gone limp in his arms. "No! No no no no no!" His hands shot to her throat, and then her chest. He couldn't find a pulse, but wasn't sure if that was because her scales made such an act difficult, or if there was no pulse to begin with …

Jacob hugged his dragon tight as tears streamed down his face. "God, Penelope, please … please don't go. Please … I wish there was something I could do …"

… He expelled the air in her chest and breathed into her mouth …

Remembering Jasper's words, Jacob bent down to Penelope's snout. But wait: how could he share breath with her through the mouth? Thinking quick, Jacob instead clamped her mouth shut, plugged once nostril, and blew into the other with a long, slow breath. He heard the sound of bubbles escaping from the bleeding cuts in her chest, and hoped that was a good thing. He repeated this act many times, holding on to the faint glimmer of hope that somehow, it would be enough to prolong her life.

Even after breathing into her nose, Penelope was still limp. Frantic, he tried again. And again. He ignored the terrible thoughts lurking in his mind, that she was already gone, that what he was doing was futile. He ignored all of it, and kept trying to share breath as the minutes continued to pass. The only other option was to do nothing …

And Jacob could not give up.

Whether it had been five minutes since Jasper had left, ten, or more, Jacob could not tell. He was too preoccupied with his frantic work to give his dragon precious oxygen. Jacob noticed his knees felt oddly wet. He looked down. The dragon's blood was spreading, coming from the bullet wound in her lower ribcage.

Jacob sat back and gasped for breath, in danger of losing consciousness himself. "Nel, please ..." He shut his eyes tight and rested her forehead on her chest. "Don't leave me."

"There she is!"

Jacob's head shot straight up. That was Jasper's voice. And that meant—

"Jacob, he's here! Dr. Conway is here!"

Sweeter words had never came to Jacob's ears in his entire life. He heard the man first: the clinking of his bicycle ratchet, the rhythmic thump of rubber wheels bridging the gaps of wooden planks. Out of the dark night came a thin, mustachioed man in his fifties, wearing a flannel dressing gown and matching slippers. An unbuttoned white laboratory coat fluttered in the air behind him. He brought the bicycle to a screeching halt, grabbed his medical bag out of the rear-mounted basket, and let the thing crash to the ground without bothering to set the stand. The doctor's face was lined with age but his wild blue eyes retained a spry spark of youth. He bore a sharp chin, thin brown hair, and his neatly-trimmed, bushy mustache trembled and shook with every breath.

Huffing and puffing, he rushed over to Penelope with the speed of a man not quite ready to accept his senior status. He dropped down on one knee with a strained grunt. "She looks unconscious. You've been giving her CPR?" Dr. Conway asked, his voice gruff, sharp, and direct.

"What? Um …" a bewildered Jacob stuttered. "What's CPR?"

"Never mind, never mind!" His hands went to her throat, just under the chin. "Pulse is racing, but terribly faint. Her blood pressure's critically low."

A pulse … a pulse! She was still alive! Hope stirred in Jacob's chest. Dr. Conway licked the back of his hand and put it to her nostrils. "She's not breathing. Has she been like this long?"

"Um … for a few minutes at least."

"Then we don't have much time. Get out of the way! Go on, shoo!"

Jacob stood up and backed away, watching as the doctor took Penelope's head in his hands, clasped her mouth shut, plugged one of her nostrils, and blew a deep breath into the other. Jacob watched in morbid fascination as Penelope's chest rose and expanded on its own. The doctor repeated this until he was red in the face.

"You see what I'm doing, son?"

"Yes, I was doing that before—"

"Good! Now, you do the same. And keep her head tilted back, or you'll be filling her stomach instead! And Jasper!"

Jasper jumped. "What, what?!"

Dr. Conway pressed a wad of dressing over Penelope's bleeding stomach wound. "Put pressure on this wound, here. Keep a paw on it at all times, and press down hard. Got it?"

Jasper nervously nodded. "G-g-got it."

As Jacob and Jasper followed orders, the doctor ripped open his large black bag of medical tools and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. Wasting no time, he then procured a scalpel, a pair of forceps, some metal rods, iodine, and rubber tubing. He paused when he took a peek under the dragon's armpit and saw a bleeding cut.

"There's already an incision here. You do this, boy?" He glared at Jacob, who meekly nodded. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Hank, do you remember that time you saved that lung-shot woman who had been mugged in an alleyway? I instructed Jacob on how to remove the air from her chest."

"Did you, now?" Dr. Conway's face contorted into a grin that could barely be seen under the mustache. "Why, that must have been some ten years ago … you're still sharp as a scalpel, I see! Always knew you'd make for a fine doctor!" He then turned to Jacob. "And boy, did it work?"

"Yes sir, a big puff of air came out of the cuts, and she was suddenly able to speak. I did it to both sides, and she was fine for a while, but then she … she—"

Dr. Conway scowled. "You need to keep the incision open, otherwise she'll fill right back up with air! What you did was very dangerous, and very foolhardy! You could have easily made her condition worse!" His expression then softened. "But … it was also very brave. You bought her precious time, boy. Hopefully enough time to save her life."

Jacob's throat tightened once more. "Thank you, sir."

Without a second more in hesitation, the doctor returned to his work. "Now let's see …" Within seconds he had pried open the wounds with his forceps, sterilized the area, and inserted a hollow metal rod into each of the cuts Jacob had made. More puffs of air were expelled from her chest cavity. By this time Jacob was getting light-headed from breathing into Penelope's nostrils, and was glad when he was told to stop. He took a step back and witnessed what he thought was a miracle: Penelope's chest moving on its own.

The doctor examined her breathing patterns with a wet hand against her nostrils. "Good, good. Now about this blood loss," he gestured to the puddle of red dripping between the wooden planks. "She's in circulatory shock. We could have only a few more minutes 'till she experiences cardiac arrest. Jasper!"

The drake jumped in place. "What?!"

"How do you feel about becoming a blood donor?"

"Well, I … I never really considered th—"

"Doesn't matter; you're doing it anyway! Now get over here."

Dr. Conway took from his bag a large metal syringe with a pair of nozzles coming out of the sides at right angles, like an upside down T. Working with practiced speed and efficiency, he took out two large needles and swabbed them with iodine. The doctor then took a length of tubing, cut it into two with a scalpel, and affixed one piece to each of the needles. His hands moved like lightning, with the practiced precision that only experience could provide.

"Looks to be a Bluefin, just like you, Jas. That's good. Bloody hell, I hope you dragons have the same blood type …" he muttered.

"What happens if they don't?" Jacob asked, not even knowing what a blood type meant.

Dr. Conway looked at Jacob with a flat expression. "If they don't, this dragoness will have a severe allergic reaction. Her body's immune system will lyse Jasper's blood cells, which will release free hemoglobin into her bloodstream, and she'll die."

"She'll die?!" Jacob gasped.

Dr. Conway waved the notion off, as if such a fate was trivial. "It's a risk we have to take; she'll die anyway if we do nothing. Besides … that's assuming dragon blood works like human blood does. For all I know, dragons might not even have blood types ..."

"How could you not know?!" demanded Jacob.

"Dammit, boy, I'm a doctor, not a dracologist!" Dr. Conway then turned to Jasper. "Ah, mmm …" He hovered the first needle over Jasper's foreleg in several different spots. He gave the dragon's leg a thorough examination before muttering "Turn to the side, Jas," and doing the same to his hind leg, feeling all along the inside and out.

"Hurry, doc!" Jacob encouraged.

"How can I find an artery underneath all those scales?" Dr. Conway mused. "Oh, dash it all," he muttered, and returned to his doctor bag. "I need a tourniquet."

"A what?" Jacob asked.

"Something to tie around the drake's leg," Dr. Conway said as he rummaged through his things. "I need to swell Jasper's veins to find them." He pulled out the rest of his rubber tubing and frowned. "Ah, not long enough."

Dr. Conway whipped his head around as he heard a rustling sound behind him, and found Jacob hastily removing his shirt. "Here," Jacob said, handing the clothing to him.

Dr. Conway smiled. "Good thinking, boy! That'll do just fine." Working swiftly, he flipped the shirt into a roll and looped it around Jasper's left hind leg just above the knee. He then twisted the sleeves around each other, winding tighter and tighter.

"Ow, that's starting to hurt," Jasper commented.

"Good! Now plop down on your side and lift your other leg up; I need to find your femoral." Dr. Conway felt along the inside of Jasper's thigh with one hand on the needle, searching for the faintest bump or throb. "Got it!" he shouted in triumph, and slipped the needle under one of Jasper's bluegreen scales without warning, causing the drake to let out a tiny yelp.

"Sorry, Jas, no time for formalities!" said the doctor. He applied a bit of medical tape to the needle, released the air stuck in the clamped-off tubing, and untied the tourniquet in a flash of swiftly-moving hands. "Now, if you will slowly, carefully stand up and over the dragoness. And don't use that one leg—keep it relaxed."

"Got it," the drake said, and positioned himself accordingly.

"Boy, hold the syringe and lift her hind leg."

"Okay," Jacob said, and took each with one hand.

Carefully, Dr. Conway slipped the tourniquet around Penelope's lower hind leg. Jacob waited impatiently as he twisted and tightened the fabric until it caused her flesh to bulge. Using all of his fingertips, he began his search on the inside of her thigh, passing over her scales with methodical attention. Jacob bit his lip. Every second that passed, Penelope lost more and more blood …

"Ah … ah … I think this is it." He slipped the needle under a scale.

Jacob expected blood to come out of the open end of the tube, but none did. Dr. Conway frowned. He dug the needle around a bit, causing Jacob to squirm in discomfort at the sight, then pulled it out and tried under a scale right above that one.

"Hurry, hurry!" Jacob shouted.

"I'm trying, dammit!" the doctor growled. "Her blood pressure is so low … can't find it."

On his third try, a small bit of blood began to fill the tube.

"Bullseye!" he cried in excitement, and quickly clamped the tube after the air had been expunged. He then took that and the tube hanging from Jasper's leg, attached both to the syringe-like device, and removed both the clamps and the tourniquet.

"Here goes nothing," Dr. Conway muttered. He pulled back the syringe, drawing air out of the tubes and opening the channel that connected them. Jacob watched in morbid fascination as Jasper's blood traveled through the device and into Penelope's leg. "She should regain consciousness as her blood pressure rises."

"So, she's going to be okay?" Jacob asked eagerly.

He turned to Jacob. "We won't know until later. The dragon's gone a long time without much blood or oxygen … it's possible she could already be brain dead."

"What?!" Jacob shrieked. "Brain dead?!"

"We can't tell yet. Now, keep this steady above her leg while I examine her wounds."

Jacob's own heart was racing as he took hold of the transfusion syringe. The doctor's words brought him no comfort. Dr. Conway removed a long pair of forceps from his bag. "How many times was she shot?"

"Thrice," Jacob said. "Right here and … here" he pointed to the two bloody bullet wounds in her chest. "One of the bullets almost came out on the other side, right here. The other … is somewhere inside of her. The last one is in her rump, right there. Careful—she's also got a broken wing."

Dr. Conway's mustache twitched. "Hm, yes," he said, talking to himself. "Entry wound suggests very large caliber—probably a .44 … pierced lungs, both thoracic pleura … exit wound stop short of her eleventh and twelfth rib," he felt around the lump where the bullet had stopped short of breaching her scales. "Both fractured, hmm, along with her eighth and ninth near the point of entry … bloody hell, this dragon's lucky the bullet missed her heart. She could have been a goner." His hands and forceps moved to the lower injury. "Let's see … the size of the wound suggest a smaller caliber … hmm, just above the twelfth ribs … traveled medially towards … ah, yep: the bullet's in her spleen. That explains the blood loss. Shouldn't leave the damn thing in there; the lead will enter her bloodstream … ooh, that's one hell of a thrombosis!"

Jacob tried not to watch as the doctor inserted some tools into Penelope's lower bullet wound. Penelope continued to lay unconscious, and Jacob paid attention to every single breath, counting the shallow wheezes until he reached well over a hundred.

"Arg! Damn bullet! See, this is why I quit working in the field years ago … hands aren't what they used to be … mm, dragon spleens are finicky as hell … whoda thunk it?" A minute later, Dr. Conway gasped in joy. "Ahh, there he is …" He pulled out a lead mass covered in dark red goo and held it up with his forceps. "The little bugger took a while to get a hold of …" he dropped the slug on the pavement with a faint plink and went back in to look around. "Boy, fetch me the saline and some alum from my bag."

"What's alum?"

"The bottle of white powder, dammit! Hurry, before the wound fills with blood again."

Jacob dove for the doctor's bag and pulled out a clear bottle with a pump, and a vial of white powder. Dr. Conway irrigated the wound, dabbed it clean with gauze, then sprinkled the powder in. "There. That'll slow the bleeding. Hmm, spleen's in a pretty bad shape, but I don't think it's ruptured … going in to see if I can fix her up. Now boy: hold these forceps and keep the wound open for me."

Jacob grimaced as he dropped Penelope's leg and took hold of the medical tool, which looked like a narrow, blunt pair of scissors. Dr. Conway took another pair and dipped a miniature curved needle into her wound, muttering expetives as he worked. Jacob couldn't bear to watch what he was doing. Minutes passed. Jacob waited every torturous moment with dread.

And then, Penelope twitched. Her paws clenched. And as her eyes fluttered open, she cried out in pain. Jacob's heart leaped in his chest. "Penelope!" he shouted in relief. "You're alive!" The dragon did not respond to his words, and Jacob's smile quickly faded. "Nel? Penelope? Hello?"

"Ah, good!" Dr. Conway nodded in approval. "She's conscious enough to feel pain. A shame we can't sedate her."

"Wait, what?" Jacob did a double-take.

Dr. Conway went back to his bag and rummaged for some linen bandaging to soak up the fresh blood in her wound. "It's not safe to administer morphine to a patient with low blood pressure! Give her this."

Jacob gave the doctor a strange glance as he took the object in his hands. "Uh … this is a wooden dowel." The surface was covered in pockmarks and nooks.

"Put it in her mouth for when she bites down. Better that then her tongue. Hurry!"

Jacob grimaced. Reluctantly, he sat down next to Penelope's head and slipped the dowel in her jaws. He his throat choke up at the sight of her glazed-over and unfocused eyes. "Penelope, it's okay. You're going to be okay," he whispered to her, but she didn't respond to his words or touch. Jacob's stomach tied its self in knots. "Um, Dr. Conway? It's like she doesn't know I'm here…"

"Then you better hope it's not for the worst reasons," the doctor grumbled.

"Can't we do something?" Jacob pleaded.

"Damnit, boy, I'm working as fast as I can!"

"Erm, Hank?" Jasper mumbled. "I'm … I'm feeling a fair bit woozy …"

"Ah, right! Boy, take one of the clamps, put it on Jasper's end right above his needle, then pull it out. You've given as much as you can, drake. Lie down and rest."

"R-right." Jacob did as asked, and Jasper immediately laid down to cover his eyes with a wing and groan.

Penelope let out a cry of pain. Jacob hushed her gently and whispered words of encouragement and comfort as the doctor worked reverently to stem her bleeding.

"You're going to get through this, Nel … just be brave for me, okay?" He brought his lips to the top of her forehead and gave it a kiss as more tears streamed down his face.

As Dr. Conway worked, Penelope slipped in and out of consciousness, never awake for more than moments at a time. Jacob sat on the cool cobblestone ground next to a recovering Jasper and rocked himself back and forth as thousand worries swirled in his mind like a cacophonous maelstrom. "No ... no ..." Jacob shuddered. "Not like this. Please, not like this ... she deserves so much better ..." Cold rain droplets fell around him, wetting his back and hair.

"Jacob ..." Jasper looked up at him in sympathy. "She'll pull through. My keeper knows what he's doing." The drake placed a large paw on Jacob's lap. His claws were still streaked with blood. Jacob took it in his hands and squeezed hard.

After what seemed like an eternity to Jacob, the doctor set his tools aside and stood up. He wiped his blood-covered hands on his white lab coat. Jacob jumped to his feet. "Well?"

"I removed the bullets and drained the fluid buildup in her lungs. And Jasper's transfusion has bought her time, but ..."

"No." Jacob's face went pale. "Don't say it."

Dr Conway rested a hand on Jacob's shoulder and let out a sigh. "Son, I can't stop the bleeding. Her spleen's in bad shape, possibly beyond repair. Plus, the fractures in her wings will need pins if she's to ever fly again. This dragon needs surgery, and I have neither the hands nor the equipment to perform it."

Jacob stood there, feeling like he had just taken a sledgehammer to the gut. "Then ... then we've got to take her to a hospital!"

Dr. Conway shook his head. "She's a dragon, boy. No hospital will accept her."

Jacob trembled with anger. "But that's unfair! It's criminal! It's—"

"The unfortunate world we live in. And we have to accept it. Best to see if the city's veterinary clinic can take her in. Go find a telly booth—report the robbery while you're at it. In the meantime, I'll patch up Jasper."

Jasper cocked his head. "Em, what?"

The doctor pointed to the hole in his left shoulder. "You've been shot, too, drake!"

"I … I have?" Jasper blinked. "So that's why it hurts …"

Jacob took the doctor by the arm. "Um, doctor: Jasper, he killed the men after us. I think that ... got to him."

The doctor nodded. "The ol' gabber's in shock. Give him a day or two, Jasper's tougher than he looks. What about you? Any injuries?"

"Aside a knock on my head, no. Penelope, she …" Jacob's lips quivered. "She protected me with her body when they started firing."

"Did she now?" Dr. Conway's bushy mustache stretched as he smiled. "An unusual thing for a dragon to do for any human. She must care for you a lot."

Jacob squeezed his eyes shut, and tears streaked down his cheeks. "Yes, sir. She does."

As Dr. Conway tended to Jasper, Jacob took off running. He had to cross nearly four blocks before finding a telephone booth. Wandering in the city alone in the night, with only the gas lampposts for illumination under a thundering sky, Jacob thought he should be worried or even scared. But his brain could muster no emotions, save an ever-present dread of Penelope's well-being.

Jacob slid the telephone booth's door open and slumped against the glass wall to let out a weary, troubled sigh. Overhead, the plink-plink of raindrops echoed on the red tin roof.

Jacob dialed zero on the rotary. Within seconds an electronic crackle blared through the earpiece. "Hello, operator?"

A feminine voice answered back. "Yes, how may I help you?"

"Please connect me to the police. There's been a shooting at the city port."

"Redirecting you to the Public Safety Answering Point. One moment, please."

After a short wait, another woman picked up the line. She spoke in a calm, practiced tone. "This is the PSAP, please state your emergency."

Jacob took a deep breath and tried to calm his voice. "I-I-I'd like to report an attempted robbery at Wellington Warf, warehouse four, at the end of East Concord Street. A fight broke out and shooting started. Three are dead, two wounded."

Jacob heard a great deal of typewriter typing on the other end. "Yes sir, are you currently in danger?"

"No … no, I'm fine. The burglars are dead."

"I'll dispatch a police wagon and ambulance right away, sir. How serious are the injuries of the wounded?"

"They were both shot multiple times. One's hurt really bad; she's unconscious. A retired doctor lives nearby, he came and helped."

"May I talk to this doctor?"

"No, he's still at the docks. I had to run a bit before I found a telephone."

"Would you like me to contact your family and notify them of the emergency?"

"Yes." Jacob gave the woman his estate's phone number.

"And do you know the names of the wounded?"

"Penelope and Jasper."

"Last names, sir?"

Jacob bit his lip. "They don't have any. They're dragons."

The response was met with a long silence. In the background, Jacob could hear the sounds of whirring machines, buzzing bells, and other women taking calls. "Sir, the ambulance I dispatched can't accept dragons."

"What?! Why not?!" Jacob shrilled.

"Hope Memorial Hospital isn't equipped to handle animals."

"They aren't animals!" Jacob shouted. "They have intelligence just like any human!"

"Sir, please calm down. I'm here to help."

"Then help save my dragon's life!" Jacob demanded.

"One moment, please … I am contacting the city's veterinary clinic." Jacob waited for what seemed like an eternity. "The clinic is closed until eight AM."

"Of course it is … isn't there an emergency number you can call?"

"No, sir: it's only a clinic. One moment, please … there is a dragon sanctuary named Tailwind Shelters in the inner city. They may be able to take the injured dragons in."

"Tailwind Shelters is not a hospital!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's the best I can do. I am contacting them now …"

Jacob slammed the receiver down in a rage. Tailwind Shelters … that was Jenivive's place. Jenivive had very little money; Jacob didn't even know if she had a working phone, let alone medical supplies. He let out a frustrated sigh and looked out the phone booth into the rainy night. "What are we going to do?" He muttered, leaning his forehead against the glass. "Penelope, hang in there."

By the time Jacob returned to the docks, the police and ambulance had already arrived. Ignoring Penelope and Jasper, the ambulance workers inspected Jacob for injury, then examined the corpses of the three robbers for identification. Policemen in steam-pressed blue uniforms surrounded Jacob, drilling him on every question imaginable: if he knew the thieves, what they were after, if they had any accomplices … Jacob tried to answer as calm and direct as possible, but his mind could not focus on anything but Penelope. Behind him, Dr. Conway was in the middle of removing the bullet from Jasper's neck.

The doctor's mustache quivered has he grumbled. "Dammit, drake, stop flexing your muscles! The bullet's close to your jugular; if that gets nicked you could die!"

Jasper seethed in pain. His claws dug into the wooden pier. The wooden dowel was shoved in his mouth, and a pair of forceps were deep in his bleeding neck. "I canth hell ith! Oooow ow ow ow!"

"The PSAP couldn't get a hold of a veterinary clinic," Jacob told the doctor, when the police finally left him alone. "What can we do now?"

Conway closed his eyes and sighed. "We have nothing left but hope."

The words struck Jacob numb. "No ... no! We've got to do something!" He rushed over to the ambulance responders. "My dragon needs surgery!" Jacob shouted. "We need to get her to a hospital."

The responder folded his arms over his chest. "Hey, you see our ambulance?" He pointed to the covered wagon with two horses waiting patiently. "It says Hope Memorial Hospital' on the side ... not Hope Memorial Veterinary Hospital!"

"But she could die!"

"Not my problem, sonny," the responder remarked. He turned to his partner. "Come on, Wes ... let's get these bodies back to the morgue."

"But ... but—" Jacob trembled with anger as the two responders walked off. "How can you be so heartless?!"

"Jacob! My boy, my precious boy!"

Jacob turned to see his parents climbing out of their stagecoach and running towards him. Lucille didn't even wait for the chauffer to open an umbrella and instead dashed into the rain and flung herself into her son's arms, weeping and blabbering and smothering him in kisses.

Jacob stood rigid in the arms of his mother. She pulled away, looking concerned. "What ... what's wrong?"

Jacob's lips quivered. "Penelope ..." He stepped aside, revealing the injured dragon with Dr. Conway at her side.

Lucille screamed. She ripped the lantern out of her chauffer's hand and dashed down the pier. "Penny, Penny, are you okay?!" Doctor Conway stood up with a strained grunt and attempted to placate the hysterical woman. Jacob turned away. He knew his mother adored Penelope and couldn't bear to see her upset.

Desmond expressed a brief look of shock over the revelation of the dragon's injuries, but didn't rush to her side. He instead approached Jacob and embraced him tight. "My son … I want you to know we're not going to punish you for sneaking out at night. We're just happy you're safe."

Jacob pulled out of his grasp, hands trembling with rage. "You … you!" he shouted, causing the paramedics and policemen to turn their heads. "This is all your fault!"

Desmond held his hands out. "Calm down, Jacob."

"We were only out here because you were too cheap to hire real security!"

"Jacob, I never expected Penelope to be in any real danger."

"Bullshit!" Jacob shoved his father back. "You knew Secure Storage had been robbed before! You sent her out here knowing full and well she was in danger! I hope you're happy, Father … Penelope could die, but what does that matter: you saved a little money tonight."

"Don't make this about money," Desmond growled. "Penelope is a dragon: it's in her nature to guard things. I was only doing what was natural for—"

"Penelope hates these jobs! She spends the nights scared, miserable, and lonely. But you don't care about that, do you? You think of her as a tool, a servant, a slave!"

"Lower your voice, boy," Desmond growled. "You disrespect your father with this childish outburst."

"You don't deserve my respect." Jacob sneered. "While you laid down on your silken sheets and satin pillows without a concern in the world, Penelope curled up on a smelly, moldy mattress in the cold night air. While you drifted off into a comfy sleep, Penelope was out here, protecting me with her life! And what do you give her for her work? Nothing! Instead, you yell at her and berate her, you smack her and belittle her … she does every job you ask and gets treated like a dog for it! You're a cruel, heartless, and sadistic bastard! And I … I hate you!"

Jacob planted his feet and swung, catching his father in the chin with a hard right hook. Jacob punched so hard his hand stung with pain. Desmond staggered backward and fell onto the damp ground. Jacob's mother, the police, and paramedics stared in stunned silence.

Desmond looked up at his son standing over him in the rain, chest heaving with every breath. His hands clenched into fists. "It takes a lot of courage to take a swing at your old man …" he growled. "Do you want to have a go at it, boy?"

"That's not courage you felt on your cheek, it's hatred," Jacob snapped. "Want to know what real courage is? Penelope threw herself in front of gunfire to save my life."

Desmond flinched. All the budding anger in his body gave way to shock. "That dragon … took a bullet for you?"

"She took three. And she'll die for it unless she gets surgery. But what do you care ... she's just a dragon!"

Jacob stood with trembling fists and quivering throat. He waited for his father to make a move—to stand up and take a swing. He wished for it, silently begged for it. And he didn't care how badly he'd get beaten, so long as he got in another swing. But Desmond did not budge. He sat on the ground in silence as raindrops fell overhead.

"She saved your life …" Desmond muttered in disbelief. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and walked over to the paramedics, who were busy loading the bodies of the three thieves into the back of the ambulance. "You there. Why haven't you attended to that dragon?"

The paramedic shrugged. "The doc over there said he already did what he could."

"My son says she'll die without surgery. Why haven't you taken her to the hospital?!"

"Look, sir," the man responded, his address thick with sarcasm. "I already told your idiot son that hospitals are for humans only."

"Do you know who I am?" growled Desmond.

"No, and I don't care."

"I am Desmond Broyal, the richest man you'll ever meet. And I demand that dragon get taken to a hospital and treated like a human." Desmond took out his checkbook and shoved a hastily-written check in the man's hands.

The paramedic read the amount with a look of awe. "Twenty thousand reales?!"

"You'll each get one ... if you get my boy's dragon the help she needs."

He looked to his partner, who shrugged. "Fine, we can take her. But there's no guarantee they'll accept her."

--=-=--

The double doors to Hope Memorial Hospital's emergency room burst open, and two paramedics wheeled in a dragon on a pair of gurneys side-by-side. Jacob, his parents, and Hank Conway rushed in behind her.

An angry older woman in a nurse's apron and bonnet came running. "What in high hell are you cockchafers thinking? This is a hospital, not a zoo!" the woman gasped when she met Doctor Conway's eyes. "Hank! What are you doing here?!"

Doctor Conway nodded. "Good to see you, Ruth. I see your mouth is just as filthy as when I retired. We need to wheel this dragon into surgery. It's an emergency."

More hospital staff came running to see the commotion. Ruth put her hands on her hips. "A dragon? Are you crazy? Hank, you can't just burst in here and start ordering your old co-workers around."

"Maybe not, but I can," said Desmond. He pulled out his checkbook and held it up. "Whoever volunteers to perform surgery on this dragon will get a hundred thousand reales."

Hospital staff whispered and murmured among themselves. "That's Desmond Broyal …" one of them exclaimed in shock.

"Who?"

"He owns the Beretti Mountains Trading Company. They say his wealth rivals the king himself …"

Within seconds, one doctor stepped forward. The man looked to be in late forties, with a sharp chin, fading black hair, and hawkish brown eyes. "I'll do it, provided you split the money between my team."

Jacob's father looked to Doctor Conway for approval. He nodded. "That's Gail Greene, as fine a surgeon as you'll ever meet."

"Hank, what's her condition?"

"Multiple cracked ribs from two gunshot wounds to the chest, and a third in her left flank. Multiple fractures in her right wing. Double pneumothorax, hemorrhagic shock from a perforated spleen. Class IV hypovolemia."

The doctor checked Penelope's pulse with one hand and licked the back of his other and put it against her nose. "Dash it all, she's hanging on by a thread. We won't get anywhere without a transfusion."

"I already sent word to the city's dragon shelter. We'll get a donor in here as soon as we can."

Doctor Greene cracked his knuckles. "Alright, then let's prep her. Harvey, Walter: clear ICU room three. Bring in a second operating table and stick them side by side. I need an oxygen tank, 10 CCs of adrenal extract, and two liters of Ringer's solution, stat. Irene, fill a wash basin and grab all the hartshorn salts and laudanum we have. Betty, I want everything we have on dragon anatomy in front of me within the next five minutes. And somebody get a mop—she's dripping blood everywhere." Doctor Greene clapped his hands."Let's go, people, let's go!"

All at once, the ER bustled with activity. Nurses and aides rushed by Jacob, yelling and calling out to each other. Doctor Greene grabbed one side of the gurney, and Doctor Conway took the other. Together they wheeled Penelope into one of the operating rooms. Jacob rushed to follow, but was grabbed by one of the nurses. "You can't go in there, medical staff only."

Jacob wrestled his arm free."But that's my dragon!"

"I'm sorry—you'll have to wait outside."

A frustrated Jacob stormed back into the waiting room, where a large crowd had gathered. Among the curious medical staff and patients sulked a pencil-thin man in horn-rimmed glasses clutching a notepad and furiously scribbling observations. He was a scoop-snooper—the kind of shameless news hack that hangs around hospitals and police stations looking for the latest drama to report.

Sometime later, Jenivive burst through the double doors of the ER, scandalously clad in only a cotton lace nightgown, a headscarf to preserve her frizzy orange hair, and a pair of muddy men's work boots without socks. Jacob and many other men averted their eyes, feeling ashamed to see a woman in her sleepwear. Jenivive ran up to the janitor mopping the lacquered wooden floor clean of dragon blood. "Where is Penelope?!" she demanded.

"I, uh ... what?!" The man stammered, trying his best avoid gazing down the woman's conspicuous cleavage.

Jenivive shook the man back and forth. "The injured dragon, where is she?!"

Following Jenivive was a dragoness Jacob had never seen before. She was a bluefin zephyr like Penelope—though unlike her lavender scales, this dragon's back and flanks were colored teal with hints of indigo in the wings and tail. The dragoness looked around in sheepish confusion at the murmuring onlookers. By now, several police officers had also arrived, adding to the growing crowd. The dragoness stuck close to Jenivive's side. "Miss Jenivive? Am I allowed to be in here?"

Gaile Greene ducked his head out of the ICU. His hands were already smeared red. "Ruth, prep that dragon for a transfusion in room four. I need as much blood as she can afford to give."

Ruth let out an exasperated sigh. "Right away, Dr. Greene," she said through clenched teeth. "I can't wait to hear what the board will say about this. It better not be my pension on the line …"

As Ruth and the dragoness walked away, Jenivive ran up to Jacob and hugged him tight. "Jasper told us everything that happened. I'm so sorry, Jacob! Me and Diana came as soon as we could."

Jacob returned the hug and felt the stress in his shoulder muscles relax. He had until now been running on adrenaline and nerves, but all that tension washed away in an instant, and a rush of emotions took its place. "Thank you … I'm glad you're here." He squeezed her tight as tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

"How in the blazes did you manage to get Penelope admitted to a hospital?"

Jacob pulled away from the embrace. "My father …" he gestured over to Desmond. The man had not said a word to Jacob since their physical altercation. Even now, he stood conspicuously far from his son, staring out the window in silence. "He used his … influence to get Penelope the help she needed."

Jenivive blinked. "Your … father? The same father who hates dragons? The same father who had Penelope on house arrest for weeks? Color me surprised."

"I don't fully understand it, myself."

"Jenivive?"

"Mrs. Broyal?! Jenivive flinched and covered her exposed shoulders and neckline with her arms—being in the presence of the social elite reminded the woman of her own indecency. "I, um ... hello! Fancy meeting you here!"

Jacob's jaw dropped. "You two know each other?" He couldn't imagine his mother being on a first-name basis with any commoner, let alone Jenivive of all people.

Both women flinched. "I—ah—Jacob, my son. There was a time when your father and I discussed having Penelope … spend some time apart from the family. We looked for a place she could stay, and Tailwind Shelters was our first choice."

An awkward silence hung in the air. His mother was referring to the "incident"—the time Penelope let it slip what was going on behind closed stable doors. Jacob remembered his father threatening to have Penelope taken away, but had no idea he had actually considered following through with it. But something felt off … the air hung with an abrupt silence and both women awkwardly avoided eye contact. Jacob was sure there was more to the story, but he wasn't sure what.

Jenivive cleared her throat before Jacob could voice his objections. "Well! I'm glad I could get here in time. How is Penny doing?"

Jacob opened his mouth, but struggled to find words. "She's … hanging in there. Three gunshot wounds, broken wing and ribs, something called a pneumothorax, and her spleen won't stop bleeding. Dr. Conway said she's gone so long with low blood and oxygen that she could have brain damage."

Jenivive gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth. "Oh god! Is she gonna be okay?"

Jacob sighed. "I don't know, Jenivive … I don't know."

--=-=--

Hours passed in dreadful silence as the doctors worked, and Jacob refused to go home. As the city clock tower struck 4 AM, his parents left, and shortly after so did Jenivive, with the dragoness who donated her blood. Jacob spent the night in the waiting room until sleep found him, and he dreamed fitfully of gunfire and blood. He woke up curled into fetal position on a bench to find that the sun had risen long-ago. The ER was quiet and the waiting room empty save a few patients and an overweight, balding police officer reading the morning paper.

Jacob made a bee-line for the ER reception desk. The receptionist—a pretty young thing likely just out of nursing college—perked up and flashed a big smile at the attractive young man in front of her.

"Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

"How did Penelope's surgery go? I mean—my dragon's surgery," Jacob added, when the receptionist gave him an odd look.

"Oh, that dragon? Beats me."

"How could you not know?!"

The receptionist blew a bubble with her chewing gum until it burst with a loud pop. "Listen, cutie, I only punched in an hour ago. I'm just a receptionist; nobody tells me anything. That dragon doesn't even have a file on record."

"Can you let me know when she wakes?"

"Sure thing, sugar."

Jacob stepped away and paced in silence. His stomach growled, and his mind turned toward breakfast. Perhaps a diner waited nearby, or even a street-corner vendor. Jacob turned for the door.

The police officer dipped his paper down. "I wouldn't go out there if I were you," he muttered. "You're already the talk of the town."

"And who are you?"

"Officer Jack Perry. The Chief of Police has known your father for years; he asked me to keep an eye on you."

Of course his father knew the Chief of Police, Jacob thought: it never hurt to have friends in high places. "I'm sure it's not that bad out there," Jacob remarked. He was no stranger to gossip; he came from a famously wealthy family, after all.

Jacob pushed open the doors and stepped out into the morning air. The sidewalks were congested with pedestrians: men in light summer coats and women carrying parasols to hide from the strong morning sun. A cavalcade of stagecoaches clogged the cobblestone road. The air smelled of horse manure and industrial smog. At the corner, a newspaper hawker—no more than twelve years old—stood on a soap crate, shouting to the masses. "Fresh off the presses: Hope Memorial admits injured dragon, owner rumored to have bribed staff! Special editorial on page 2: "Is Hope Memorial corrupt?" Extra, Extra: attempted robbery ends in triple homicide, two dragons spotted at the scene of the crime! Coincidence or conspiracy? Read the exclusive scoop in the North Star Gazette!"

"Oh cripes …" Jacob muttered.

A gaggle of reporters hung around the hospital entrance, and when they saw Jacob, they flocked to him like a swarm of hungry mosquitos and drilled him with questions. "Mr. Broyal, is it true your father bribed hospital staff to perform surgery on your dragon?" "Do you have anything to say regarding the three men found dead at the docks?" "Mr. Broyal, can you tell me about the attempted robbery at Wellington Warf?" "True or false: did your dragon murder three men in cold blood last night?" "Mr. Broyal, what is your opinion on the safety of men and women in a city that lets dragons freely roam our streets?"

Before he knew what to say, Jacob felt a rough hand on his shoulder and he was yanked back into the hospital. "The boy's been through a rough night, news rats!" the police officer growled. "Leave him be!" He slammed the hospital doors shut.

"Um, thanks …" Jacob muttered.

"Hmph." The officer sat back down in his seat and re-opened his paper. Jacob noticed the headline on the front page: THREE MEN FOUND MAULED, BURNED AT WELLINGTON WARF! ARE DRAGONS TO BLAME? Jacob's hands clenched into fists. With headlines like that, no wonder people didn't like dragons.

"Sir, do you think you could … bring us breakfast? I have money for the both of us."

The police officer grumbled. "Ah, what the hell, I could go for a bagel and a coffee." He folded his paper and got to his feet with a wheeze. "I'll be back in a few. Don't leave the waiting room."

Not long after the police officer left, the ER receptionist appeared, still chewing her gum. "Um, sir? Your dragon's awake. She's been asking for you."

Jacob's breath caught in his chest. He crept down the hallway, both afraid and excited. Doctor Conway's warnings of brain damage swirled in his mind. Would Penelope be … all there?

Inside the white, sterile room, Penelope lay on her left flank across two beds that had been pushed together. Over a dozen pins had been inserted under the skin of her right wing, with splints to hold them in place. An uncomfortable-looking tube poked from under her armpits, connected to one-way valves to release air that escaped from her lungs. A four-inch-long incision lay across her midsection, where the bleeding bullet wound had been. Her tough scales prevented stitches, and frighteningly large staples had been used to close the wound instead. A needle fed into her right foreleg, connected to a narrow hose: the glass reservoir over her bed was marked for two liters and was over half empty.

The dragon stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and her beautiful blue irises focused on her keeper. "Jake?" she squeaked.

The sound of her voice was like honey to Jacob's ears. He rushed to her, tears freely flowing as he embraced her tight. "Penelope! Cripes, you're okay! I was so afraid I'd lose you."

The dragon stirred, grunting in pain. "Jake, I hurt a lot …"

Jacob put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Easy now, easy—don't move. You've been through a lot and you need to rest." He turned to yell into the hallway. "Nurse? Nurse! I have a patient in a lot of pain!"

A nurse in a pristine white apron and bonnet came running with syringe and a bottle of morphine, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Penelope. "Oh, the dragon …"

Jacob's muscles tensed, expecting more anti-dragon sentiment. "Is something wrong?"

"Eh, I'm not sure what her dosage should be. Dr. Greene might have left a memo somewhere …"

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to Penelope as the nurse injected the morphine into the tube connected to her leg. "There we go … you'll start feeling better real soon, Nel."

The lavender dragoness breathed out a long sigh. "Good. And Jake …"

"Yes, Penelope?"

"I'm hungry."

Jacob laughed. He leaned back and took her scaly cheeks in his palms. "Of course you are. Do you remember what happened?"

The dragon stared off and thought hard. "I remember getting shot … I remember being scared … I remember you stabbed me and let me breathe …" the dragon looked up at him. "Jake, what happened to the bad guys?"

"Jasper … dealt with them. They won't bother us ever again."

"Is Jasper okay?"

"He was hurt also, but not too bad."

The dragoness cocked her head. "And you?"

"I'm just fine …" Jacob leaned down and touched noses. "Because of you."

Penelope's eyes fluttered closed. "Jake, last night, when I hurt my wing … you told me to be brave. So I tried my best."

Jacob caressed her cheeks. "And were brave, Nel. You did more than I would have ever asked of you."

Penelope leaned forward and gingerly licked his chin. "You know I'd do anything for my Jake, right?"

Jacob wiped a tear from his eye. "Yes, Penelope … I know."

TO BE CONCLUDED