Page 3

Chapter Three

Yeah, so I dropped my groceries and my jaw on the floor. No way had Little Fella spoken to me in actual English.

“Clumsy,” he hissed, proving me wrong as he scampered down and scurried over for a sniff.

“Um. Did you just talk?”

“Yes. Did your ears stop working? I’ve been waiting all day. Where’s my food?” Little Fella nosed at my hemp shopping bags, reusable and durable, although granny used to complain using hemp to make fabric seemed a waste. Never mind my explanation that hemp lacked enough THC to get you high.

“I, uh, um. I think I need to sit down.” My ass hit the floor beside my groceries and Little Fella shook his head at me.

“Now is not the time to sit. I told you, I’m hungry.”

“I’ve got a brain aneurism,” I muttered. Had to be, because lizards did not harangue in slightly accented English.

“Don’t you dare die. Not only have I not given permission, but it would also delay my feeding.” Little Fella sat on his haunches and crossed his arms.

I blinked. “Only I would hallucinate a bossy, talking lizard.” Granny would be proud. She’d often claimed to have some of her best conversations with inanimate objects—usually while on a vision quest—a.k.a. high as a newt.

“This is not your imagination. I could always speak, you simply could not understand. The language passed down to me no longer exists, it would seem. Your television proved handy in that respect. I’ve learned a great many things since you abandoned me.”

“I went to work,” I grumbled. “And are you claiming you learned to speak English in one day by watching TV?”

“Yes, along with a smattering of French. Now, if you are done with stupid questions, feed me.”

“You sound like Audrey II ordering Seymour around,” I muttered as I gathered myself and the grocery bags from the floor.

“Who is Audrey II? Is this their territory?” Little Fella hissed.

“Audrey II was a singing plant in a movie,” I explained as I unknotted the bags and pulled out my purchases.

“You would insult me by comparing me to vegetation!” For a tiny-sized critter, he sounded hugely indignant.

“Someone’s hangry,” I stated as I opened the packaging of the rotisserie chicken. The smell of it wafted as I began tearing off chunks.

“You were gone a long time,” Little Fella complained.

“I had to work. You know, to make money so I can afford to feed your ass,” I complained.

“Ah yes. As I learned today, your society is monetary based. Once I build up my hoard?—”

I interrupted, “Hoard, as in treasure?”

“As if there’s any other kind.”

My laughter erupted loud and bright as I brought a plate down to this level. “Gods, the way you talk, it’s as if you think you’re a dragon.” Weren’t they the only creatures obsessed with collecting riches?

“Not think; I am a dragon.”

It took me a second to grasp his seriousness. Must be a joke. I laughed again. “That’s funny.”

“I am not amused,” Little Fellow stated.

“Come on,” I argued. “Look at you. You’re the size of a kitten, have no wings, and dragons aren’t real.”

“I beg your pardon, we do exist. As to my size and lack of aerial limbs, what do you expect? I am newly hatched.”

“From where?”

“The egg you warmed in your firepit.”

“Wait, you came out of the rock?”

“Egg,” he corrected. “Which some might mistake for stone. It’s part of our camouflage from predators.”

“Eggs can be cracked. I tried hammering at that rock and it wouldn’t break.”

“Because it’s made to withstand abuse. How else would it survive when our maternal progenitor drops it in a volcano for maturing?” he pointed out.

“Let’s wind up a second. Your mom dropped you in a volcano?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we need heat to hatch.”

“There’s heat and then there’s magma, which kills everything.”

“Everything but dragons,” was his tart reply.

“Hold on a second, are you claiming the rocks spewed by volcanoes are eggs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed. “I was the only fledgling in that particular site.”

“Implying there are more eggs in other volcanoes.”

“Not implying. There are. My maternal progenitor likely spawned and spread a couple.”

“How would you know?”

“Because maternal progenitors usually produce clutches of two or more.”

“You know, the proper word for the person who brought you into this world is mother,” I pointed out.

“Mother is a human term,” he said sneeringly. “Dragons don’t require a caretaker.”

“Says the dragon who keeps demanding I feed it.”

“Because that is what a servant does.”

A matter-of-fact statement that had me staring. “Excuse me?”

He spoke slowly as if I were dumb. “Humans have always been the servants of dragons. You feed us. Care for our scales. Tidy the hoard. You know, servant tasks.”

“Sounds more like dragons were human pets,” I muttered.

The way Little Fella puffed his chest in indignation almost made me laugh. “I am not your pet. You belong to me.”

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Listen here, Little Fella —”

“That is not my name.”

“Well, excuse me. What’s your name then?” I replied tartly.

“I have not yet chosen one befitting my stature. Until I do, you may address me as Your Grace. That is, after all, the courtesy extended to royals.”

“Yeah, a royal pain in my ass,” I mumbled, not low enough for him to miss.

“Servant, your insolence is intolerable!”

“So is your bossy attitude. And for the record, my name is Pip. Now if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than argue with a small lizard with delusions of grandeur.”

“There is nothing more important than me.”

“I can think of plenty of things that are, starting with eating my dinner.”

Little Fella eyed his plate of chicken. “We shall continue your education after we dine.”

And by dine he meant scarf down his chicken then proceeded to eyeball mine. I didn’t share but did offer what remained of the rotisserie bird. Little Fella ate it, bones and all.

As for the cupcakes I’d brought as a treat, I got one of the six. He ate the rest and licked the plastic clean. His full belly didn’t improve his bossy mood.

“I require rest after my repast. Carry me to my chamber.”

“Carry yourself. I’m going for a shower.” I also needed a moment to think. If I wasn’t currently suffering from hallucinations, then I had a strange dilemma on my hands. Namely, what the fuck should I do with a talking lizard?

Some folks would have seen an opportunity to make a quick buck. The people who would pay big money to own Little Fella would make it so I could build my dream house and only work if I wanted. However, I couldn’t see myself selling him. For one, it felt a little wee bit too much like slavery and I knew granny would disapprove, not to mention my native roots—even if down to something one sixteenth—balked at the idea.

It occurred to me that I should check and see if I was indeed crazy. Namely, discover if my lizard—with delusions of dragon—would talk to someone other than me. Assuming there was even a lizard. Could be a figment of my imagination. An imaginary friend I didn’t need. It would be simple enough to ask Leo to pop out and, without saying anything, see if he noticed or mentioned my new housemate.

But while I adored Leo, I worried because my boss did like collecting weird and rare shit. He had a basement full of bones—dinosaur, he claimed. Illegal to own, but that didn’t stop him from purchasing them. A talking lizard that claimed it was a dragon? Leo might like me, but I worried his obsession might prove stronger than our friendship.

Who else could I ask?

Kalypso, lovely girl, had a big mouth. She’d never keep the secret.

And that left… no one, really. I didn’t make friends easily or often. Like my granny, I didn’t mind being alone.

Most of the time.

For a second, my mind flashed to the burly pet shop owner. Maddox. What would he think? He knew about lizards, but mine might be a bit much for even him to handle.

So what was a girl to do?

Apparently crawl into bed with her arrogant new pet. Although Little Fella kindly shifted from the middle to let me get under the covers before draping himself over me. Had he gotten bigger? Sure felt heavier. No real surprise given how much he ate.

I woke the next morning to a hungry lizard. He downed a package of frozen waffles, a whole grapefruit—which he declared nasty and forbade me from buying again—and discovered coffee. Not a good idea. I left my caffeinated Little Fella bitching to me about my duties, my disrespect, and the lack of adequate consumables.

On the way to work, I had time to wonder a few things. One, how was Little Fella so damned smart if he just hatched? No way did he learn English from watching television for one day. Two, how did he know his mother dumped his egg in the volcano? He’d not even been born. Which led to three, he called himself dragon. How would he know what the fuck he was? Was it because of something he’d seen on television? And finally, four, could it be that Little Fella started out as an ordinary reptile and—like some tortoises in a sewer—got exposed to radiation or something, which is how he got so smart and talkative? That would be cool.

Assuming he existed outside my imagination, of course. I still had my doubts.

At the shop, my concentration sucked, which, in my line of work, wasn’t ideal. Sure, I inked and it looked good, but Leo noticed it lacked my usual flair.

“Something wrong?” he asked after I finished a butterfly on some lady’s shoulder.

“Sorry. I think I’m tired.” And then, because I couldn’t admit the real reason why, I offered a partial lie. “I’ve got a new pet keeping me up at night.”

“Oh. I thought you didn’t like cats and dogs.”

“I don’t hate them, I’m just not around enough for them to be happy,” I countered.

“So what did you get then?”

I gave the truth minus some details. “Lizard.”

Leo’s brows shot up. “Interesting choice. From that place down the street?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kalypso interjected, showing she’d been listening. “The owner is a hunk. If I wasn’t scared of scaly critters, I’d get one, too, just to have an excuse to visit him in his store.”

“Maddox owns it?” I asked.

“Ooh, first name basis,” Kalypso teased.

“It’s on his name tag,” I muttered.

“And you noticed. Even better, now you have an excuse to keep going back.” The smirk on her face annoyed because I’d actually thought of that.

“I doubt I’ll have to return. My Little Fella ain’t into the bugs and stuff he sells.”

“Veggie eater? Boring. I’ve always preferred the carnivorous type,” Leo stated.

Thankfully the conversation ended as the shop bell dinged announcing someone had entered.

During my next lull, despite having planned to visit the pet store—ahem, Maddox—I didn’t, mostly because I didn’t need Kalypso teasing me. Instead, I spent my break smoking a cigarette and thinking of questions to ask Little Fella when I got home. To soften the interrogation, I snared two large extra pepperoni pizzas as a bribe.

Pulling into my place, it took only a moment to unstrap them from the small rack over my rear fender.

“I’m home,” I chirped as I entered my trailer, only to immediately frown. Little Fella wasn’t there to greet me. For a second, I felt disappointment. Either he’d left, or I’d indeed imagined him.

I dropped the pizza on the counter and decided to change before eating. My bedroom stank and the culprit lay in my bed. Little Fella had curled up on my pillow and didn’t look good. His scales were paler than that morning and he appeared to be sweating.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

No reply. I poked him and almost hissed at the heat of him. Running a fever and unconscious.

I panicked. What to do? Take him to a vet? Did they even see lizards?

Before I could think twice, I dialed the only person I knew who might know how to help.

“Leaping Lizards, how can I help you?” asked Maddox in that sexy, deep voice.

“Help! I think my lizard is dying.”