Tricks of the Trade - By Laura Anne Gilman Page 0,41

in the pocket of my skirt, thankful I’d thought to dress nicely this morning. Madame might not note the difference between cargo pants and a skirt on humans, but I did. Respect was earned, but it was also demanded in certain situations, and I would have felt awkward coming here in my grubbies. As it was, I hid my stompy boots under the hem of the skirt, and was glad I’d at least buffed them to a gloss over the weekend past.

“But you did not come to discusssss horticulture with me.” Madame’s great head came closer as her neck arched down, her body adjusting so that she could meet me, more or less, eye to eye. “Yesssss? Thissss isss a work call, little Bonnnnita?”

“I am afraid that it is, Madame.” I met her gaze, struck again by the jeweled tones of her eyes. Her much lesser cousin, the cave dragon, had eyes the color of fired clay bricks, his entire body barely twice the length of her neck. His voice had been like hers, though: smooth and cultured, like rose water and honey. The old legends of serpents with smooth tongues? They’d been speaking, literally, of dragons.

“So.” Madame settled herself comfortably, a great-aunt indulging a favorite niece. “What isss it you wissssh to know?”

What did I want to know? That was the question, wasn’t it? What didn’t I want to know? Madame was an Ancient, older and wiser even than today’s visitor. Anything I asked her, she would either know, or know someone – or something – who knew.

But even before I’d gone to study with J, my dad had me reading fairy tales. And one of the first rules ever when dealing with dragons, no matter how polite, is don’t waste your questions on things you can find out for yourself – or things you really don’t want to know.

“Madame, you know I have the kenning?” It wasn’t the sort of thing that you brought up in polite conversation, but the skill set was unusual enough that odds were J had told her, sometime over the years I’d been his student.

She tilted her head slightly, waiting. Yes, she knew. My pulse raced slightly, my heart pounding a little harder. I wasn’t frightened of Madame... exactly. No more than I should be, at least. But I didn’t know if I was violating a protocol here, pushing a boundary I couldn’t see, and that unnerved me more than I’d realized.

“Last evening, I scryed a dragon, Madame.” She knew me, she knew J, she knew I didn’t scry lightly, or speak often of what I saw. “My vision showed it flying overhead. Filled with rage and fire... attacking the humans below.”

Her head pulled back, sharply, and the half-dozen bouquets of peach-petaled roses crashed to the ground, the vases spilling water over the parquet floor.

“You sssssaw thisssss?”

“Madame. I did.” I was so very damn impressed that my voice didn’t shake or stutter, and that my body hadn’t flinched at her outburst. “But I do not know what it means. Have any Ancients bearing ill will toward humans come to ask your leave to enter this island?”

Because this was Madame’s territory, from South Ferry to Inwood, Hudson to East River, and no one would dare intrude without her permission... unless they meant to take it from her.

“None. None would dare. This island is mine.”

I’d misjudged her. Madame didn’t lose her cool. Her voice didn’t thunder, and she did not hiss fire. In fact, her voice got damned near frosty, with none of the usual near-lazy sibilants and slurred n’s I’d thought were indelible speech patterns.

I stood my ground, but clasped my hands respectfully and bowed over them, my gaze hard on the sparkling scales of her left shoulder. “My kennings are often of things yet to come, Madame. But they are always true. Be watchful.”

Her eyes went half-lidded and her delicate chin-whiskers twitched as she considered my words.

If Madame thought I’d come to warn her, so much the better. I had what I’d come here hoping for: the knowledge that there were no other dragons nearby, and none with ill will toward humans. Even if they’d been in another borough – and I suspected, based on things I’d heard, that there was at least one in Queens, albeit not of Madame’s status – they were not likely the one I had seen. That meant we had a little time yet, at least.

“Madame?” So long as I was here, and she thought I’d done her