The Secret World of Dragons

  The Secret

  World of

  Dragons

  Sandra Harvey

  Copyright 2012 by Sandra Harvey

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author/publisher.

  ~ Chapter One ~

  The Secret in the Piano

  The ground was wet and muddy from the rain. The girl’s sneakers sunk and stuck with every hurried step she took. She could feel the heat on the back of her neck, even in the cold downpour. Her fear gave her the strength to run on into the dangerous night. Behind, the sound of haggard breathing and splashing followed her.

  A cluster of rocks barred her way forward, and she began to climb. Her feet slipped against the hard stones, and her nails chipped as she tried to pull herself upwards. She cried out in desperation as the sounds behind grew louder, panic rising up in her chest. She reached the top of the rocks and slid down the other side, too tired and frightened to take her time. Her elbows and legs scraped against the rough stones and she found herself lying in a pool of muddy water.

  Her limbs were shaking from the cold as she attempted to stand up, but her legs buckled as she saw the large shadow swoop in towards her. A giant creature with red eyes stood with her in the mud, a shadow on its back in the shape of a person.

  ‘Give me what is mine,’ said the shadow.

  The girl shook her head, cowering against the rocks. ‘No,’ she whispered, her voice too drained to speak. ‘No … I will never …’

  ‘Then you will die.’

  The shadow moved forward to attack, and the girl shielded her face.

  Then, a blinding light filled the darkness. The girl looked up through her fingers to see the outline of legs, wings, and a head that turned slightly to look at her, eyes shining in the night.

  Emma suddenly woke up.

  The wind blew her curtains back and forth, letting the sun shine through the window and onto her face. She groaned and pulled a pillow over her eyes, blocking out the light.

  What a weird dream, she thought glumly.

  Emmaline Reeve pulled back the covers on her bed and slid her feet onto the floor. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and then arose slowly from bed, stretching out her stiff limbs and yawning. Her laptop buzzed faintly on the floor, the screen showing a page of blankness. Emma hung her head back and closed her eyes, sighing.

  An assignment was due today and she never finished it. She had thought long into the early morning of the right words to type out. Stories, she had found, were so hard to think up, and with the deadline so near … well, she had completely worn herself out with stress. No amount of imagination she had in her head would create a magical story for English class.

  ‘Emma!’

  Her father’s voice echoed from the stairway beyond her red and white door. Even with the door shut, she could still hear his gentle voice drifting through the hallway to her bedroom.

  ‘Coming!’ she called back. With another sigh, she shut off her computer and closed the lid. Assignment or not, she still had to face school today.

  She hastily threw on a navy pair of jeans and a black sweater, combed out her russet hair and brushed her teeth. She had no time to straighten out her bangs, which hung messily around the top of her eyes. No time for breakfast either, she thought, as she thundered down the stairs.

  Her father – Lucas Reeve – was at the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His tie was undone and his black hair was in a mess. His reading glasses were on the table next to his unfinished breakfast. Emma paused at the bottom of the steps for a moment, watching his serene expression. Her breath caught at the sight. He was usually always so stern, so distracted by something else. But today …

  Well, today he looked young and at peace: the way she loved him.

  A smile broke over her face as she waltzed over to where he was and planted a kiss on his cheek. He glanced up at her and smiled back, but then turned to his paper once again.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he questioned, checking his watch.

  ‘I guess so,’ replied Emmaline, as she picked up her schoolbag in the hallway. The tattered backpack had traveled with her for many days now, enduring tosses, rips, and the occasional lunch spill.

  ‘I guess so?’ Her father raised his eyebrows as he brought the mug to his lips. ‘What’s wrong now?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ said Emma shortly. ‘You always think something is wrong.’

  ‘That’s because it usually is.’ Luke rose from the table and put the paper and the cup on the counter. He picked up the glasses on the table and put them on.

  Emma giggled. ‘You look like a nerd with those on,’ she commented. He had not had the glasses for very long.

  Luke made a face. ‘Well, when you get older, so do your eyes. That makes it harder to see.’

  ‘Like you look any older,’ laughed Emma, as she ventured over to him to fix his tie. Her father never changed, not as long as she could remember. He was like a picture on the wall.

  ‘All right, enough nonsense,’ he grunted, shooing her away and looking at his watch again. ‘Out to the car. I’ll drop you off at school today.’

  ‘Really?’ questioned Emma, surprised. ‘You mean … you aren’t going to work today?’

  ‘My schedule has changed,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t have to go to work until a little later, which means I can drive you to school from now on. So out to the car with you, young lady.’

  Emma could not help but smile as she hurried outside and down over the porch steps. He never drove her to school. He always had to leave early for work, which was in the opposite direction of her school. It would be nice to have a ride in the mornings now. She hardly saw her father anyway, only in the evenings when he came home. When her mother had left –

  She bit her lip. When her mother had left. It had been a long time ago, but Emma could still remember. She could still recall the way her mother would sing her to sleep, how she held her close when the thunder roared outside, how the world stood still as she read words Emma could have never understood at such a young age. Oh yes, she could remember.

  Every time she walked past the den, where the piano stood dusty and silent, where the keys would never be touched again … she remembered. Her father had shut the glass doors and they had never opened since. She would sometimes glance into that room and try to picture her mother sitting there, stroking the old keys, beautiful music once again floating through the house and up the stairway to her room, coaxing her to sleep. But the piano never sang, and if it did, it would probably sound like creaking steps instead of swinging bells.

  Emma slid into the silver car parked outside her house and strapped herself in. She rolled down the window to let in the warm air. It was almost summer – her favourite of the seasons. She loved the heat, and how the world seemed to come to life before her eyes. Winter was so dull and boring, so … dead. It made her feel depressed and tired. And when summer came, so did the holidays. That meant no school and more time to spend with her father.

  ‘Dad!’ she called out the window, beeping the horn twice. Where did he go?

  Luke emerged from the house then, his hair finally brushed and his briefcase in hand. He had his jacket slung over his shoulder. Emma smiled. He was always in a hurry, no matter where he was going or what he was doing. He leaped into the car and started it, only fastening his seatbelt when they were halfway down the street.

  ‘Is Mrs. Barry treating you all right?’ he asked.

  His eyes were on the road. Even though he was a fast drive
r, he always paid attention to what he was doing, and he never once had an accident or got a speeding ticket. ‘The speed agrees with me,’ he once had said.

  ‘Sure, I suppose.’ Emma shrugged. ‘She’s just a total bore.’

  Luke laughed quietly and then turned off to the left. ‘Old people can be like that sometimes, huh? What about the kids? Are they nice to you too?’

  ‘Dad,’ murmured Emma. ‘Why do you keep asking me these questions? I’ve been here almost four months now. Everything is fine.’

  ‘I’m just checking,’ he said.

  The car finally pulled into the parking lot of the Corner Street High School. Emma had thought it such a silly name when she first arrived here. Her previous schools usually had more defined names.

  ‘All right, have a fun day,’ said Luke.

  ‘You too,’ replied Emma, giving him another kiss, and then she stepped out of the car.

  The brick-wall building with the square windows and green, finely cut hedges faced her yet again. Emma kept telling herself that she would become used to coming here, as she always told herself each day. Since she had left her old school at the other end of town to come here, she had felt more like an outsider than anything else. When her father had worked in the city, he would drop her off at school along the way to work, but now he worked in this town – Emburn – and she had to find a different school to attend.

  The students here were nice enough, but she missed her old school and her old friends. She kept her father busy with different opinions, though. She did not want him to feel upset. They were so close. A simple wrong expression on her face would tell him that something was disturbing her.

  With a sigh, and no assignment, she walked through the heavy, steel doors. There were only a few students left wandering in the halls as she entered. Class had probably already started, or was about to start. The “lurkers”, as she nicknamed them, liked to hang out until the bells had long since rung and the teachers were silently making notes about their absence from class.

  Her homeroom was almost at the end of hallway, right next to the laboratory, which usually always stunk with the foul chemicals used in experiments. Chemistry class was not something she particularly looked forward to having. Right now though, English class was the first thing on her schedule.

  As she entered her classroom, she could already hear the chattering of her fellow classmates. They were a talkative bunch, every single one of them, which sometimes annoyed her a little bit. She was always so quiet, keeping to herself mostly, which was probably why not many people here talked to her.

  ‘Ah, good morning, Miss Reeve,’ said Mrs. Barry. ‘Nearly late, I see.’

  Emma flinched at the sound of her sharp voice. The woman at the desk was thin, fragile looking, with horn-rimmed glasses that she constantly had to keep from sliding down her long, pointed nose.

  ‘Morning, Mrs. Barry,’ said Emma, and hurried to the back where her seat was. She did not like talking to that woman. Even a simple greeting was enough words exchanged between the two. The woman was a snobby sort of person, usually dropping retorts if you spoke to her for too long.

  The last bell of the morning rang out through the school. The day had finally begun, and Emma was already regretting the moment of disappointment that would cross her teacher’s face when she discovered that her newest student had not produced yet another story.

  ‘Settle down,’ instructed Mrs. Barry to her class. Her temper was short, another redeeming quality she possessed. ‘I am expecting, as you all know, your assignments from last class. It was an easy one, just two-thousand words put into a story. I’m guessing you were all able to finish it. Otherwise, your marks will drop by a sum most of you are quite incapable of figuring out.’

  Emma grimaced. Did she really have to be so blunt about it all?

  Though, the teacher’s attention had suddenly been drawn to the window, where a black tabby cat was sitting on the firm, green hedge and staring into the classroom, its tail shifting back and forth.

  ‘Stupid animal,’ muttered Mrs. Barry, and walked over to the window to shoo it away. ‘Some people … the nerve to let those things run loose …’

  She walked off grumbling about the cat until she was sitting back in her desk once again. The idea of the assignments had seemed to escape her mind for the present, which pleased Emma so much that she could hear her heart hammering in her ears. The thought of her remembering to ask about the stories again sent Emma’s nerves into chaos.

  ‘Take out your novels,’ said Mrs. Barry, sifting through some papers on her desk. ‘This will be the last one for the year.’

  A quiet murmur went through the room and the sound of shifting papers and zippers sliding filled Emma’s ears. She reached into her own schoolbag and produced the novel. It was tattered and turning yellow at the corners. It had belonged to her father when he was younger, he told her once. But she figured it had more likely been owned by someone before then as well, like her great-grandfather.

  Emma had always been fascinated by creatures made up in stories. She always wished to create her own world of magical beings, so wonderful that people would remember her for years to come. But she was not that crafty, and words just did not agree with her. It always seemed as though she was missing something, or her characters were not as real as she would like them to be. She had given up on writing long ago.

  A noise was heard at the window and Emma looked up from her book to see the black tabby cat again on the hedge, pawing at the glass. Mrs. Barry grumbled as she rose from her seat, heading back over to the window to shoo the cat away for the second time. Her look was hostile as she opened the window and waved her hands at the creature. Emma turned back to her book.

  She wondered how the author had chosen to name each of the fictional characters and places. The questions that buzzed in her head bothered her sometimes. She was over curious about everything. Her father once told her that curiosity was sometimes a bad thing.

  The tapping sound came again. Emma peeked up from the book to glance over at the window once more. The cat was there again. It was now staring at her quite keenly. The violet eyes that glimmered slightly in the sunlight made Emma shudder with anxiousness and she turned her gaze back to her story. The teacher did not scare the feline away again, even though Emma wished she would. She glanced up again, only to find the creature still there. It was irritating … and quite spooky.

  But you aren’t superstitious, she told herself. It was just a black cat. They were common enough. On a second inspection, the cat did seem a little unusual. It almost looked bigger than the average tabby, with a longer tail and ears. A splash of white was at the centre of its forehead.

  Emma shook her head, feeling a little silly. A cat was a cat – even that black one – no matter how strangely it seemed to be looking at her.

  When dinner break had finally arrived, Emma was one of the last students to walk outside into the bright sunlight. The sky was cloudless, a perfect blue. She loved weather like this. It made her feel happy when her heart said otherwise.

  She strolled over to her usual empty picnic table and sat down. Her spot was the farthest away from the school and the closest to the flower gardens that the janitor – Mr. Reed – had planted. She could see the road more clearly from this spot, and the playground across the street. She liked to watch the softball game that took place in the field a little father down from the playground. It was not exactly thrilling because of her lack of interest about sports, but it kept her entertained throughout lunch.

  Although, seeing the black cat jump upon the table was enough to turn her attention away from the game. Emma stared at it with wide eyes. The cat just stared back.

  ‘Impossible,’ she whispered aloud, gulping. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked it. She quickly made sure no one had seen her talking to the cat. They would think she was turning crazy. That wouldn’t be the most fantastic rumour.

  She did not expect a reply, so she picked up the cat and pl
aced it gently down on the grass. Without warning, the feline hissed and dashed into the flowerbeds, scratching Emma’s hand as it jumped through her fingers.

  ‘Ow,’ she cried, bringing her finger to her lips. ‘Stupid cat …’

  She pulled out her dinner, which her father had so generously packed for her. He always did that. It was one of the many things she was grateful for.

  It was a grilled-cheese for today. He knew she loved them. How could he possibly not? She remembered last summer, when he had gotten time off work. They had spent every mealtime in the kitchen together, cooking up their favourite foods. She missed those days.

  ‘Why so sad?’

  The voice came from nowhere and Emma spun around, frightened. But no one was standing near her. She turned back to her food, her mind travelling. She glanced at the other tables, wondering if someone had shouted, but it had not sounded like that. It was almost as though it had been whispered into her ear.

  Well, now she was definitely going crazy. Hearing voices was almost likely the first sign of madness.

  Grabbing her schoolbag quickly, Emma got up from the table and headed towards the parking lot. She was not feeling very well all of a sudden.

  Her feet carried her out onto the street and towards home. The old sidewalk was chipped and cracked, grass growing up between the splits. She shuffled her worn sneakers as she walked, gazing down at them as all of her thoughts swirled together in her head. Her father would not like it if he found out that she had skipped school, but she did not want to go back inside that building. Her mind was elsewhere.

  Though, her ears were not. She spun around quickly, almost sure that she had heard someone talking, and tried to see whose voice to which it belonged. But there was no one there. Her heart spud up as she glanced rapidly around, looking for the owner of the sly and distant voice. The only person she seen had just disappeared into their house and that was all the way down the road from where she was standing.