Puff Died

“Did you do it?” Clint asked him in a voice that was mix of awe, envy, and disbelief.

Steve allowed himself a slight smile, but that was all he did until they were out of the high school and into the parking lot. “Over the weekend. All the way.”

“No way.”

“I don’t need to lie to impress you, Clint,” he said easily, making it sound as though it had not been his first time. “Jen was mine Saturday night.”

“Man,” Clint said, envy lacing every sound. “What was it like?”

Steve stopped a condescending smile and said, “You don’t honestly expect me to be able to explain it to someone who’s never felt it before, do you?”

Clint shook his head, his light brown hair swinging into his eyes. “Wish I was you. You taking her to the dance, then?”

Steve shook his head as they arrived at his old Buick. He unlocked it, jiggled the handle until the door opened, and sat down on the split seat. He thrust the key into the ignition, then unlocked the door for his friend. As Clint got in, he replied. “Nah. I’m going to get Tricia for the dance. Jen was simply for practice.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, Clint asked, “How’re you going to break up with Jen?”

Steve laughed. “That’s already taken care of. Jen’s religious.” He let go of the steering wheel with one hand and mimicked holding a phone. “‘. . . I’m sorry, Jen. But last night . . . we just went too far. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but . . . I think it would be better if we spent some time apart.’ She cried, she agreed, and that was that.”

“Womanizer,” Clint said, and though he sounded slightly disgusted Steve could still hear the undercurrent of awe in his voice.

“You praise me with faint damns,” he said, smiling and looking briefly at Clint.

When he turned his head back, something large flew in front of the Buick and he slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The seat belts kicked in, and after they stopped, Clint turned to him, breathing heavily. “Why the hell’d you do that?” he asked, panicked.

Steve started going again, looking around. “Something flew in front of the car. I didn’t want to hit it.” He was breathing a bit heavily, himself. He ran his hand through his blond hair. In looking around, he had seen nothing the size of whatever had flown in front of the car. Some big bird. I’ve never seen a bird that big . . .

“Next time, swerve or something. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

Steve nodded. “Sorry about that. I have to be careful of hitting anything; the Buick couldn’t take it.”

“Hey, at least you’ve got a car. Must’ve come in handy Saturday.”

“Are you kidding? This car is the last place to do anything with a girl.”

“Where was it, then?”

“I’m not telling you all my secrets.”

“C’mon, man.”

“Clint, you want a girl, you have to figure out your own way to get at her. You can’t use mine.” Steve let his smile drop, just a little. Clint’s house was coming up. “You could do it,” he continued. “You’ve just got to let yourself talk to them more than you do.”

“Nah. I’d probably just end up falling in love with them, and that would really screw things up.” Clint got out of the Buick and shut the door, leaving Steve to wonder if that last comment had been directed at him or not. Not that it mattered, if it was. Clint was good for the occasional sarcastic comment, forgotten by the next morning.

It was only a little way from Clint’s house to his, which was a good thing. The Buick, though officially his, had been through his parents before it got to him, and door handles that worked only thirty percent of the time were the least of the car’s problems. He got out of the car and reached back in to pick up his backpack.

Before he straightened, something flew over him. He jerked his head around quickly, but could see nothing. He shouldered his backpack, and then a soft sound behind him made him turn around.

Two branches of the apple tree in the front yard fell to the ground. They had not broken; the ends were completely smooth.

Something had cut them.

He looked warily at the sky as he walked across the lawn and in to the house, but there was nothing to be seen. Shrugging, he opened the door and went downstairs to his room, passing his sister’s room. She got home before he did. She was still in Junior High. Her door was, as usual, slightly open, but when he looked in, she was reading, so he didn’t disturb her. He instead opened the door to his own room, which remained habitually shut.

He walked in, threw his backpack in its traditional corner past a pile of dirty clothes, looked up, and saw a dragon on the bed. He froze, staring at it while his brain tried to assemble some coherent thought.

The dragon was large, almost too large for the bed. Its scales were an oily green, and its wings hid half its body. Its head, at the end of a long, sinuous neck, was turned towards him, and the blood-red eyes narrowed as they looked at him. There was a slight scent of sulfur in the air. Its talons were sunk deep into the mattress. Spikes ascended the outer ridges of its forelegs.

He did the first thing he thought to do. He stepped backwards out of his room and shut the door. After his breath returned to normal, he looked back at his door. I can’t have seen what I just saw.

But when he opened the door and cautiously and peered back in, the dragon was still there. It looked at him and opened its mouth, revealing an uncomfortable multitude of fangs. He shut the door again and went to his sister’s room. She looked up at him. “What?” she asked, her deep red hair falling over the lower half of her face as she turned from her book.

He tried to speak a couple of times, then said, “Could you go tell me what’s in my room?”

“I don’t need to go. Dirty laundry, full trash can, posters of Psylocke, five billion comic books, and God knows how many roaches. Can’t you see I’m reading?”

“Just go and do it, Crystal.”

She stared evenly back at him. “This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me to do. What’s going to happen to me when I walk in there?”

“I just want to know what you see.”

“Forget it. Your room is your own mess. Try cleaning it; then I’ll go in and see the miracle.”

“Just look inside!” he shouted.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t shout at me,” she said. “Whatever joke you’re trying to pull, I’m not falling for it.” She turned her head back to the book. He backed out of the room and sat on the floor. Well, if she asked me to do the same thing, I don’t know that I’d trust her . . .

He had never before been afraid to enter his own room. But he could not stay out indefinitely, and judging by Crystal’s reaction, nobody would go in for him. He opened the door, walked in, then shut the door so that even if he was a complete loony, nobody would be able to tell.

The dragon was still there. Its forked tongue flicked idly out from its mouth. It stared at him as though he had never left. For a long time, he stood still, staring at the dragon and being stared at in turn. Finally, he risked a hesitant step forward. The dragon did nothing.

He took another step, and the dragon’s lips split in a reptilian grin. Its eyes flared savagely. Steve took a step back. Still the dragon continued to stare at him. He found he had backed up to the wall. Finally, he mustered enough courage to say something.

“What are you doing in my room?”

The dragon shifted its wings, and its smile became more bloodthirsty. “Vengeance,” it hissed. It pulled a deadly-looking foreleg from its spot on the bed and with a claw sliced a chunk out of his closet door. Then it returned to staring at him.

“Vengeance? Vengeance for what?”

“Puff.”

“What?”

“Puff died. We are here to avenge him.”

Steve stared at the dragon for a long time. “I don’t understand.”

“That,” the dragon hissed softly, “is not my concern.” Its tail began to move across the room.

Steve hurriedly opened the door and let himself back out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. His heart was beating more rapidly than normal. He went to his sister’s room once again, this time more urgently.

“Crystal, please go and tell me if there’s a dragon on my bed.” He could barely keep his voice level.

She looked up from her book. “A dragon? You must be joking.” After looking at him for a moment, she said, “All right, you’ve sold me. You can have your joke. I’ll go look in your room.” She put a bookmark in her place, slid off her bed, and walked into his room. He kept a safe distance from the door. He heard Crystal speaking, but for some reason he could not understand her words. He had just barely put his ear to the door of his room when suddenly it opened. Crystal stood there. Her eyes were slightly disfocused, and she was breathing heavily.

“Did you see it?” he asked her.

She nodded, shivering.

“So I’m not going crazy.”

She shook her head.

“So do we call the police, or what?”

Crystal shook her head again, and her eyes grew wider.

“It left. The police would arrest us for wasting their time with jokes.” She fell silent for a moment, then hugged herself as if she could not control her trembling any other way. “The dragon told me to tell you that he has business with you and will not return to his exile until it is completed.” She looked away from him and walked quickly to her room. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“What else did it say?” he asked her.

She turned to look at him, swallowing. “It said that whatever it did with me would be a pleasure.”

She fled into her room and shut the door. He hurried into his own room. The dragon had vanished. He walked over to his bed. The dragon’s claws had shredded the sheets in several places, and holes had been gouged in the mattress. He wondered how he would explain this to his mother when she asked. Well, Mom, there was this dragon on my bed, see . . . Right. I’ll be grounded for a month. If I’m not institutionalized. He pulled the sheets off his bed and dragged them out to the trash bin, after which he set about emptying all the trash cans in the house so that the garbage would cover up the shredded sheets. He had used the tactic of emptying all the garbage before in hiding evidence from his parents.

With a little bit of effort, he turned the mattress over and then put new sheets on it. It looked as though nothing had changed, except for the fact that his bed was made. He lay down on his bed and stared at the posters on the walls of his room without seeing them. Despite the evidence of the shredded sheets, his mind had trouble accepting what he had seen and heard. A dragon? What in hell is a dragon doing in my room? When his parents came home, he shouted his usual falsely cheerful greeting at them through the door of his room. He had never been one to tell his parents what he was really feeling. He spent a few more minutes lying down, trying to think and make sense of what he had seen. Neither effort was noticeably successful. He got up, turned on his computer, and played games to calm down until it was time for dinner.

He and Crystal both ate slowly. Beyond asking how school went and getting the same boring reply they always got, his parents were silent. Neither he nor Crystal brought up the dragon, and probably for the same reason. Dinner was almost tasteless in his mouth. After dinner, he went back down to his room and played games until late in the night. As he was falling asleep, he realized that he had once again forgotten to do his homework. He took some comfort in the realization that this time, it was not his fault.

He woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of breathing. His eyes flew open, and he looked around quickly. From the far corner of the room, silhouetted by the small moonlight peeking through the blinds, a large shape crouched. Suddenly, its eyes opened, and the light that fell from them illuminated the room in blood.

“How can you sleep, now that Puff has died?” the dragon asked him in a deadly hiss.

Steve threw himself back against the wall, but the dragon made no threatening gesture. It seemed to be waiting for a response. Steve could feel his pulse in his forehead, and his breath came in ragged gasps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he panted. “Whoever Puff is, I don’t see why I should care whether he’s dead or not!”

“That,” the dragon responded, “is why we are permitted to avenge him.” Then it vanished. Steve blinked one or two times to make sure the dragon was really gone. Lying with his back to the wall, he tried to return to sleep, but his eyes kept flying open at the slightest sound. Finally, he gave up, turned on the light, and read some old issues of his thirteen-year comic book collection.

He fell asleep with a comic book in his hand forty-five minutes before his alarm woke him up. He had a tremendous headache that only lessened after he had showered and had breakfast. But it returned as soon as he pulled on his backpack, pounding his temples as he trudged up the stairs and out the door.

The pain was not enough to make him miss the swoop of wings, and he looked swiftly around, but could not see the dragon anywhere. It was on days like this that he regretted his habit of picking Clint up for school. He had wanted to get some solid sleep the previous night. He was on a very definite timetable. He needed to ask Tricia to the Christmas Dance today. Or, at least, this was the day of the asking, and he would have to be ready for her answer. Asking had already begun all over the school, of course, but he had learned through observation that the most beautiful girls were not the ones to be asked first. Sometimes, they were not asked at all.

Most guys were too scared to ask them. But he had passed beyond that feeling.

When he got to Clint’s house, the dragon was on the roof. He stared at it for a moment, but it said nothing, so he walked carefully up to Clint’s door. As he raised his hand, the dragon laughed softly, but still said nothing.

Clint did not meet him at the door. Clint’s mother did. “I’m afraid Clint’s sick. He won’t be going to school today.”

“Bad?” he asked, more out of habit than genuine worry.

“Pretty bad. Some kind of flu.”

“I hope he gets better.”

“He’ll appreciate that.”

He walked back to the Buick, wishing his headache would go away. He heard the door of Clint’s house close, and then the rush of wings. He turned around. The dragon had landed on the driveway and was staring at him. He looked to the front window of Clint’s house, but saw no sign of Clint’s mother.

“What now?” Steve asked.

“Some friends,” the dragon said, stretching its wings, “are a sickness.”

The dragon whipped around and began to fly off. Steve got back into the car. His hands shook, but he could not tell if he were angry, afraid, or simply insane. He spent a few moments with his hands on the steering wheel, calming down. You’re asking Tricia today. Keep your mind on that. You can think about the dragon after school. Tricia.

It was a fairly simple plan, set up with Mr. Lewis, the Biology teacher, yesterday. A box of cookies with messages on the bottom of each cookie to be delivered during second period. And he had a sure knowledge that Tricia remained unasked. The unorthodox method of asking ensured her interest. By the time he pulled into the high school parking lot, he was almost calm. His headache had almost vanished. Once in classes, he busily concentrated on doing whatever homework was due next period.

He expected an answer during lunch. Given the conversations he had overheard without seeming to, she would not wait to answer. He had planned for Clint to be with him when she answered, but Clint’s sickness prevented that. So he sat in the corner of the vending machine lobby, relaxing easily against the bricks.

Tricia came about fifteen minutes into lunch. She was alone, which he had not expected, but which, all in all, would probably work better. Tricia was four inches shorter than he was, had long, pale gold hair, and a cheerleader’s form. All in all, a perfect date to the dance.

“I came alone,” she said. “I wanted to make sure this isn’t some kind of joke.”

Steve kept his face straight, but made sure his voice was soft, as if he were hesitant to speak. “No. It’s not a joke.”

“I thought you were going out with Jennifer.”

He shook his head, closed his eyes. “We had to break up.” Just enough of a catch in his voice.

“So what did you do? Cross her name out in the message and put mine in? Never mind, you didn’t use any names in there. Why me? I don’t want to be taken on rebound.”

“I want to dance with you,” he replied, still softly. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’d at least like one date.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and he thought how perfectly shaped her face was. “When do you want to pick me up?” she asked.

He named the time.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

She turned around, and he smiled as he watched her leave. Any woman could be manipulated if you knew enough about her. He caught a fraction of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head to see Jen disappearing down the hall to the cafeteria. He did not let it bother him. Jen had been his. Tricia would be.

School was pleasant.

It seemed odd to not be going to Clint’s house after school. Instead of going straight past the church that Jen liked to go to, he turned right before it and went home. He smiled at the combination of cowardice and shyness on the part of the other guys at school that had left Tricia unasked four days before the Christmas Dance.

The smile disappeared when the shadow passed above the Buick. He stepped on the gas slightly and got home as soon as he could. He parked on the side of the empty road, opened the door, and quickly pulled his backpack out of the car.

As he swung it over his shoulder, the shadow descended, until the dragon was hovering over the Buick’s roof.

“Puff died,” it hissed. “Will you also spit upon his grave?”

“Go to hell,” he snarled at thing, and turned away.

“Puff died,” it replied as he walked away. Its voice grew vicious as it said, “We were already there.”

He heard a shattering sound, and whirled.

The passenger side window of the Buick had been broken to pieces. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. He went blankly back to the Buick, looking at the fragments of glass inside. He ran his finger along the broken edge of the window. He swore and kicked the side of the car. “Come back here, you little . . .” He stopped before completing the sentence. The last thing I want is for it to come back. He began to walk into the house, already considering how to lie his parents into replacing the glass.

When he got downstairs, he found Crystal sitting in the hall, staring vacantly at his door.

“Crystal?” he said uncertainly.

“He came,” she said distantly. “He was there when I woke up this morning.”

“What did he do?”

“He asked me about my classes. He said he would be willing to help me study for them tonight. He said he knew many things of the world.”

He was silent with surprise. “That’s all?”

“And I went to school, and his voice was still with me, even though I left him in my room. And in math, I looked at the book, and he whispered in my head, telling me all the right answers. I don’t know math. I can’t do math. He can. He told me the answers, and I did what he told me, and his voice wouldn’t stop, telling me about everyone, what to do, what to say. Who to speak to. What they hate, what they fear, what they want that is forbidden.” Her voice shook. “I know everything. His voice doesn’t leave. It won’t be quiet. I sit here, and I hear only him.” She looked at him squarely.

He asked the question he knew he had to. “What does the dragon say about me?”

She got to her feet. “Nothing.” She fumbled for the handle of her door. “He says that he must separate business from pleasure.” She walked slowly into her room. “He speaks to me always. Always. I did what he said.”

Then the door shut, and he could ask her no more.

He walked into his room, let the backpack drop where it was, and stared at the wall without thinking, without doing anything. When his parents came home, he did not say anything. Finally, before dinner, he roused himself and took out his homework. He did as much of it as he could stand before he heard his parents calling them to dinner.

He and Crystal left their rooms at the same time. “I think we should tell Mom and Dad,” he said.

Crystal’s face was flushed, and her eyes were still far away, her attention on a voice in her mind. “Since when have we ever told them any of our secrets?” she asked him. “Would they care if we did?” For a moment, she stood still, her head tilting back, her eyes closed. “His voice . . . his voice is so calm. I can hear it in my flesh.” She opened her eyes, began to go upstairs. He followed her, not knowing what to say. She was right. He had never shared anything with his parents.

Sometime during the dinner his father asked him what had happened to the Buick.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I came to it after school and the window was smashed. Might have happened during class. Somebody thought to rob it before realizing that nobody would ever leave anything valuable in it. I don’t know what I’ll do; it might snow sometime this winter.”

There was silence for a moment. “You’re taking this awfully well,” his father said.

“That’s because you didn’t see me when I first saw it.” he replied.

“Well, we’ll get it into the shop sometime next week. You were going to use our car for the Christmas Dance anyway, weren’t you?”

He nodded. He tried to smile, but the attempt failed miserably. Fortunately, the phone rang, and he was spared further conversation with his family as he leapt to get it. “Hello?” he asked.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Clint. Sorry I wasn’t up today. I spent most of last night puking my guts out.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, I still got it. I don’t think I’ll be going to school tomorrow. You can get an extra five minutes of sleep.”

“Cool. I’ll probably need it.”

“What, you asking her tomorrow?”

“Did that today.”

“What’d she say?”

“What else? Yes. Listen. I’m in the middle of dinner right now. Hope you get better; school’s boring without someone to make smart remarks.”

“Thanks. I hope I get better, too. Probably more than you. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Clint hung up, but before Steve put the phone down, a new voice hissed in his ear.

“And so you are left friendless.”

He slammed the phone down, and, hand shaking, went back to finish dinner. “Clint’s sick,” he said by way of explanation, and began shoveling food in his mouth as quickly as he could. He finished, got up, went downstairs, and tried to go to sleep as quickly as possible. It was a long time in coming. The dragon had made Clint sick. The dragon could speak over the phone. It could enter his room at will. He was not safe.

He drove to school the next day in an absolutely frigid car. He was comforted by the fact that though the Buick would be remarkably easy to steal, nobody in their right minds would want to. Not that I’ve shown noticeable signs of being in my right mind recently. I’m being stalked by a dragon, for crying out loud. He pulled into the parking lot and saw the other students getting off the buses. He caught sight of Jen, dark circles under her eyes, holding her backpack as if she no longer knew what it was for. He made his face impassive, and as she caught sight of him she flinched as if struck. He made no sign of noticing her. Do the words “broken up” really mean anything to you? he asked her without opening his mouth. He shouldered his own backpack and headed into class. The awe began before the bell rang. Guys whispered to each other after seeing him, and several stared with open wonder. He was going to the dance with Tricia, after all.

He went to class and paid no attention. Only a small, brief activity would be required before the dance, since it was a first date, but it had to be something suitable to Tricia. Unfortunately, he was friendless. There was no way Clint would be going to the dance as sick as he was. And he had no other friends he wanted to bring along on a first date. He couldn’t stand most of them, anyway. So. A suitable activity. He had several ideas, but first dates always worked more comfortably in a group. It made the girl feel safer.

By lunchtime he had decided on both the restaurant and the mini-golf. Tricia liked being outdoors in winter, and there was no snow on the ground and not likely to be. Besides, the extra clothing from being outside in December would make her feel more comfortable around him. He liked to encourage that feeling.

He had still not fully recovered from the sleepless night before last, so he spent his classes after lunch halfnapping. The Buick was still cold when he got in to go home. He had not been plagued by the dragon all day. He was close to feeling moderately cheerful when he got home. He opened the door and went downstairs, passing by his sister’s room. Her door was not completely closed. He glanced in as he passed by.

He froze, dropping his backpack to the ground. Unable to believe what he was seeing, he pushed the door more completely open.

Crystal was in her room. So was the dragon. She had her eyes closed, standing near her bed.

Her shirt was completely unbuttoned, and the dragon stood facing her, its tail to him.

“What are you doing?!” he asked her.

“He talks to me,” she whispered longingly. “He talks to me in my head all day. He tells me everything, and I do what he says. He wants me.” She shuddered. “I want him.”

He stalked towards the dragon, revolted. “That’s my sister, you son of a b–”

The dragon’s head whipped around to face him, and his mouth involuntarily closed.

“That,” the dragon hissed, “is not your concern.” With a snarl, it swung its tail.

The end caught him with deadly accuracy, and all his breath left him as he was flung into the hallway, crashing into the linen closet. He dropped to the ground, struggling weakly to get his breath as the dragon’s tail closed Crystal’s door. He tried to crawl towards the door, but it was a while before he could get anything to work. His ribs hurt abominably. Finally, he mustered enough strength to get to her door and try to push it open.

It didn’t budge. He slumped down next to it in defeat.

His parents came home, so he crawled off to his room to try and do something, anything. But he could not stop thinking of his sister and the dragon. When dinner came, he crept out of his room as though expecting to be murdered. Crystal was waiting for him.

“What did he do?” he asked her.

“What?” she blinked, and he became aware of the tears on her cheeks.

“What did he do to you?”

She looked at him without seeing him. “First of all, it’s none of your business. Second of all, it’s your fault anyway.”

“My fault?”

“The dragon came for you. Not for me. I was just a bonus, he said. I’m not the reason he’s here.”

“A bonus?!”

“He put nothing in me that was not already there.” She shuddered. “It was awful. Because I enjoyed it.”

“You should have–”

“Should have what? He was there in my mind, talking to me, telling me things, showing me things, over and over, until I would have done anything just to get him to be quiet, and then he told me what do, and I wanted it.” After a moment, she asked, “What do you care, anyway?” She dried her eyes and started up the stairs.

He did not know how he made it to the table. I’ll kill it. I’ll kill that dragon. Right. As if I had a chance.

Another dinner he could not remember, and he was beginning to wonder if he could ever enjoy a meal again. He tried to talk, about the football team, about the dance, about anything, but nothing he said seemed to make its way past a sentence. He finished his dinner and began pounding his fist into the wall of his room. Puff died. Puff died. What does it want with me?

He had no answer for the question. Sleep was a long time in coming.

He woke the next day not wanting to get out of bed, wondering whether he would see the dragon again. Whether he would see Crystal. How she could get out of bed. He felt worn, even though he had slept enough. He could not seem to muster the energy for anything. He kept his eyes half-closed while getting dressed, while getting breakfast. He stumbled out the door, and a cold, sharp slap of air allowed him to focus enough to drive to school. Puff died. Puff died.

We are here to avenge him. It’s your fault anyway.

He almost killed himself getting into the parking lot, swerving dangerously in front of another car. He tiredly ignored the raised finger and shouted comment, and parked crookedly in one of the stalls. He went to his classes and took no notes except to draw a dragon and then tear the paper in half. Puff died. Who’s Puff?

He did not eat anything for lunch, just sat there in his habitual corner. He closed his eyes because it was too tiring to look at anything. He was shivering, and he made himself stop it. His fifth period teacher asked him if he was sick. He shook his head, but did not answer out loud.

When he got home, he winced at each step he took down the stairs. He had to stand five minutes before mustering the raw courage to go down the hall. He saw his sister’s room, the door slightly open. He looked inside, but there was no dragon. He saw Crystal, crying into her pillow. She looked up at him. She looked broken.

He went past her room and into his own.

The dragon was there, on his bed, with a box of his comic books. “What did you do to her?”

The dragon shrugged. “I took from her that which she chose to give me.” It grinned mirthlessly. “There is no art to seduction. In the life of this world, there never has been. It is simply a matter of grinding away all defenses until satisfaction is achieved.” Its grin deepened as it continued, “It is as I told her. She was not and is not the focus of our vengeance. She was merely a bonus.”

Steve clenched his fists, his pulse pounding. Before he could act, though, the dragon impaled several of his comic books on its talons and began to tear into them with its fangs.

Steve said nothing because he had trouble finding his voice. When he finally did, it shook with outrage. “What are you doing?”

“Eating,” the dragon returned. “I . . . hunger.”

“Those are my comic books, goddammit–”

“I know. They are,” the dragon said, pausing between bites, “delicious.”

He marched forward, fists clenched, saying, “That’s thirteen years of collecting!”

The dragon’s tail flicked dangerously in front of him. The dragon paused in eating long enough to stare at him with its glowing red eyes. “And how old was Puff when he died? Who were his friends? What mercy was set upon them? I do not care for your collecting. There is only vengeance.”

Everything the dragon had done since Monday flashed through his mind, and with a yell, he jumped at the dragon. Before he made it halfway, the tail caught him, and he landed against the wall. As he looked up, fire exploded from across the room, rushing toward him in a narrow jet that struck his knee, burning a hole in his jeans. He screamed, this time in pain, as blisters formed on his knee.

“Never,” the dragon hissed, “try to attack us. I tell you that Puff died, and we shall tolerate no further assaults.”

“I have nothing to do with Puff,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Find some ice for your knee. And meditate upon your lies.”

He tried to stand. His knee sent lancing pain through his body whenever he put the least pressure on his leg. He hopped up to the fridge as best as he could and got an ice pack together for his knee. He was at a loss to understand why there was any skin there at all. And he did not relish the thought of having to try and hide this from his parents.

By the time he got back to his room, the dragon was gone.

All that was left of his comic books were torn fragments across the floor.

He did not even bother to pick them up. He limped to his bed and tried to ignore the pain in his knee. It didn’t work. He considered asking his parents to take him to the doctor, and discarded that idea as soon as he thought of it. They would ask how he had burned his knee. And he could not think of a lie plausible enough. He almost winced when his parents called them to dinner.

Somehow he managed to hide the pain in his knee from his parents. He didn’t care how tasteless dinner was because he couldn’t bring himself to eat much, anyway. His sleep that night was as crippled as his knee, every movement bringing him fully awake with pain. He woke up in the morning and didn’t even bother to eat breakfast or do more than run a comb through his hair before going to school. Trying to operate the Buick with a blistered knee was murderous, and he had a hollow feeling within him. He pulled his backpack over his shoulder and stumbled his way through the school’s doors. Halfway down the hall, he had to stop and rest against a locker. He was fatigued, but seemed unable to keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. He finally made it to his class and collapsed into his seat. In spite of the ice, his knee hurt.

The morning classes were a blur. The lessons passed through him without leaving a mark. When the lunch bell sounded, he made it halfway to the vending machines before giving up. He let his bag drop and leaned against a locker, breathing raggedly, waiting for his knee to somehow calm down.

Before he started up again, Jen came walking down the hall. He started to pick up his bag, then let it fall with a weary sigh. There was no way to get out of the way before she caught up with him. He uncomfortably kept his eyes away from her until she came to a stop ten feet away from him.

He could not escape looking at her.

The dark circles under her eyes had deepened, and her mouth was slightly open. He looked into her eyes and saw pain. She had a far away look, as if she no longer knew where she was. What’s it to me? he asked her silently. I’ve got pain of my own to worry about.

For a full minute they stared at each other, until finally she walked on, her head bowed, her face hidden by her hair, hair so deeply brown it was almost black. Neither of them said anything. When she was out of sight, he breathed a small sigh of relief. He turned around and walked past the library, deciding to find a restroom where he could look at his knee.

He limped his way into the men’s room, and in a stall he took a look at his knee.

It hurt, but it seemed to be healing. At least, it didn’t look any uglier than it had yesterday.

When he stepped out of the stall, the dragon was there.

“You have had your chances,” the dragon said, its voice sounding like a blade. “Our vengeance comes.”

“What do you mean, your vengeance comes? You’ve already damaged my car, my knee, and my comic books; what’s left?” He did not think about Crystal. He did not want to think about Crystal.

“Fool. After all this, you do not yet understand.”

“Understand what? If you want me to understand, why not tell me something useful?”

“I am not here to make you understand. I am here to take vengeance. And I tell you that Puff died. We will soon hold the funeral.” The dragon paused, and a brief flame spurted from its mouth. “Come if you wish.” Then it disappeared again.

The funeral? What funeral?

He made it back to the vending machines and managed to buy something before his afternoon classes. He made it through the classes with his head slumped over his desk. By the time he made it to his car in the parking lot, even the buses had left. He drove haltingly home, went to his room, and fell into a sleep from which not even the calls of his parents could rouse him. His dreams took no shape, only the sound of the dragon’s voice.

Puff died. Puff died. It’s your fault anyway.

He felt himself being shaken awake, and opened his eyes to see Crystal leaning over him. “It’s time for dinner,” she said to him in a dead voice. “The dragon won’t shut up.”

He winced as he got out of bed. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“He won’t shut up. He won’t go away. He’s inside my head. I want him to come to me again. I need him.”

He thought he would scream, but found he lacked the emotion necessary. Weariness left him feelingless. He made his way slowly upstairs, as did Crystal. He ate as much as he could, but barely responded to his parents’ questions. He limped back downstairs after dinner and fell back asleep.

When he woke up, Saturday morning, he actually felt something like energy in his body. He was almost able to forget the pain in his knee. It had faded to manageable proportions. He showered, shaved, and ate breakfast. Being able to sleep in until ten in the morning seemed to have done wonders for him. He crept past Crystal’s room, hoping that he would not have to see her this morning. He wanted nothing to spoil his mood. He ate a large breakfast, dressed as he would for the date and dance, and then went downstairs to play games until the time came. He heard the sounds of Crystal getting up, but did not open his door to talk to her.

He was taking Tricia to the dance. The first step, and one of the most vital. He needed to be at his best. The time came sooner than he had thought. He got the keys to the decent car from his father, and walked outside to the car.

Something flew over his head. He looked up. A dragon shot past him and arched upwards, gaining elevation. As he looked, it was joined by another. Then a third. Then more, too many to count, of different colors and shades. They wheeled in the sky, looking down at him, spinning in a graceful dance that would have mesmerized him had he not hated the dancers. As he took another step, their voices reached him from far away.

“Puff died.”

“Puff died.”

“Puff died.”

He ran for the car, hurled himself in, and tore screaming out of the driveway, going to Tricia’s house. The dragons flew ahead of him, around him, perching on trees, on walls, on roofs, sending fire into the sky. As he passed the church by Clint’s house, the church Jen liked to go to, he saw them perched on the bells, the fires from their mouths making the bells glow softly. He heard the rush of their wings over the thrum of the car’s motor, and their voices began to grow on him even in the car, till he clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his hands hurt.

“Puff died.”

“Puff died.”

He began to sweat. He pulled down the street to Tricia’s house, and the dragons flew ahead of him, idly slicing the limbs off trees, grinning at him viciously. His own thoughts took the rhythm of their speech.

Puff died. Puff died. He could not seem to concentrate on anything but the whirl of the dragons and the rush of their wings. It’s your fault anyway. He made his way to the door of Tricia’s house with the smell of fire in his nostrils, and rang the doorbell.

The dragon flew down and landed beside him, staring at him. Puff died. He could feel himself breaking under the words. As the door opened, he turned to the dragon and screamed, “Who the hell is Puff?!”

“A magic dragon. Lived by the sea. Who are you talking to?”

Tricia’s voice sounded uncertain, and a little frightened, and she could not see the dragons, but he did not care. “What was that?” he asked desperately, turning and staring at her unblinkingly.

“It’s a song from the Sixties or something. Puff. He lived by the sea and had this boy that he played with. But the boy grew up, and Puff hid in his cave because the boy never played with him after he grew up.”

He stared at Tricia with his mouth open, not saying anything.

“Are you okay?” she asked again, this time with more fright evident in her voice.

Barely aware of what he was doing, he said. “You’re wrong. They said he died. You’re wrong.”

She looked at him uncertainly, then said, “Do you need help?”

“You’re wrong!” he shouted at her.

Her face grew angry, and she shut the door in his face, shouting, “See if you ever get a date again!” He stared at the door without understanding. Then he walked back to the car. Puff died. Great. What does that mean? I’m supposed to mourn the death of the Sixties? He let his head slump against the wheel.

He had officially blown his chances with Tricia before they even had their first date. He had likely blown his chances with every girl in the high school if not the city. There was no way Tricia would not tell her friends what he had just done.

When he raised his head, the dragon was looking at him. He rolled down the driver’s side window before the dragon could smash it.

“Where did the others go?” he asked.

“To complete our vengeance.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have not yet held the funeral.”

“All right, so Puff died. What do you want me to do about it?” he asked wearily.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “Suffer.” Then it vanished.

He wondered what the dragons had left to do. He started the car and drove aimlessly for a while. Clouds began to gather overhead, the day to darken. Though he had dressed nicely for the dance, it was nothing that would have been too formal for a public place, so he went down to the mall and wandered. He refused to go home any earlier than he would have if he had gone to the dance. After playing a couple of pointless games in the arcade for a few hours, he found himself walking past a music store. He swerved suddenly to go inside, almost knocking someone over in the process. He walked up to the counter and asked, “Do you know the song ‘Puff?’”

“Yeah. It’s by Peter, Paul, and Mary, if you want to buy it. We should have some of their stuff.”

He walked over, found a CD, and paid fifteen of the dollars that he had planned on spending on dance pictures. By the time he left the store and the mall, the sky was completely dark with nightfall, and only gray smudges showed the clouds. He got in his parents’ car, started it, and popped the CD in the player, listening to the song, trying to understand what the dragon meant.

Puff died.

He got nothing from the song that Tricia had not told him.

Puff died. We are here to avenge him.

And here he sat, likely dateless for the rest of his life. His thirteen years of comic books destroyed, with all the time and money they represented. His knee blistered. And Crystal. Crystal. Looking just like Jen had in the hall. Jen. Pitiful, broken Jen. He stopped the CD, and looked up into the clouds. He saw a dragon flying, black against the darkness of the night. He slumped. They were not done. They would do more. What else can they do, kill me?

Then he froze, understanding. They were not going to kill him.

Oh my God.

He shoved the car into reverse and tore out of the mall parking lot, almost flying to the nearest street. We will soon hold the funeral. Come if you wish.

There was only one place to hold a funeral. There was only one person who would be there. In the place where Puff died.

He hit two lights perfectly, turned right, almost stopped at four-way stop, and screeched to a halt in front of the church.

Jen’s church.

As he looked up, it began to snow, but the falling flakes did not conceal the dragons.

Flying around the bell tower. Hissing, screaming. He ran to the door, not knowing whether it would be open or not. But it looked as though the door had been torn open. Scratches marked the doorway around the lock. He gave little heed to them as he ran in, trying to find the stairs to the bell tower, wondering if the church even had them. At last he found another door that looked as though it was forced open, and began running up the stairs, ignoring the pain in his knee. Panting, he struggled to the top. Beyond was the way to the bell tower.

Before him was the dragon. It seemed even larger, and the smell of sulfur was even stronger. Its eyes glowed so brightly that the white of the church seemed to bleed. Despite his shortness of breath, he stood up, forced himself to speak. “All right. I killed Puff. Why take it out on Jen?”

“Did you never stop to imagine how you killed him?” the dragon asked. “Puff was magic. As far removed from us as it is possible for our kin to be. He was a friend of the innocent, of the good. When the good lost their innocence, it pained him. His friends lasted but a short time. But to have that innocence riven, stolen by one who did not appreciate its value . . .” The dragon swung its claws, gouging chunks out of the walls. “Puff died in torment. As he always does. The torment you caused. And every time he dies, we are permitted to avenge him.

“He was noble and friendly. Understand that we are not. He was of a different sort, of those who stayed. We are not magic. Before this world, the first of us drew away a third of the stars of heaven. We were a third of that host. And we cannot be with those who stayed in heaven by the sea of stars. Nevertheless, when our enemy is killed by the men of this world, we who left are permitted to return from exile to avenge him. You destroyed one who was innocent and kind among us.

“Permit us to return the favor.

“By your action, you made her alone and deprived her of that which gave her life meaning. So we made you alone and took that which gave your life its pathetic meaning. And you did it for no other reason than your own gratification. Therefore were we permitted to seek the same. And if we chose your kin for our games, who are you to complain?” The dragon’s eyes narrowed, challenging him.

His fists clenched uselessly. The dragon was facing him, and the way to the bell tower was beyond. He remembered the force of the dragon’s tail. The dragon’s tail was as far away from him as it was possible to be, but the dragon’s spiked forearms looked ready to tear into him at the slightest provocation.

He remembered the pain the dragon had already given him. But now they were making Jen pay.

Looking past all the lies he told himself, he found that he could not bear it.

He ran. Not at the dragon, but past him. The dragon swung its forearm as he ran, but slowly, as if he had done something the dragon did not expect. He felt the skin tear along his blistered knee as the spikes caught it. He howled, but he kept going. As the tail swept towards him, he grabbed hold of the ladder and began to climb, ignoring the protests of his leg. The tail crashed to the floor below him. He pulled himself to the floor of the bell tower, and, barely able to stand, he looked around.

Jen stood there, walking slowly forward, towards the edge of the tower. Beside her and around her, dragons flew, their wings filling the air, their whispers no longer directed at him. Her hair swirled around her, driven by the wind from the dragons’ flight.

“Jen!” he shouted raggedly.

She could not hear him over the sound of the dragons’ wings. Too many to count, they circled around her, forming an almost impenetrable barrier, guarding her step by step as she advanced to the edge. Even if their wings had been silent, he was not sure she could have heard him past their whispers.

“Unworthy.”

“Failed.”

“Sinful.”

“Worthless whore.”

They left no opening for her to escape. But that, too, was his fault.

Behind him, the dragon’s head thrust through the opening, and he made his decision. He pitched himself headlong into the dragons’ circle.

Their claws began to rake him as he entered the whirlwind, tearing along his back, his arms. He cried out, but kept going, though every wound was agony in his soul. He could not move quickly; the pain in his knee and back was too great. He was knocked off his feet, and had to crawl for a time before he could stand again. The dragons hissed at him, roared at him, wounded him.

But they did not kill him. He suddenly found himself in the center of the ring. Barely able to see, he pulled Jen to the ground, placing himself between her and the dragons, waiting for them to attack. Fire raced down the muscles in his back, making him twitch and shudder. His knee was in agony. And to his surprise, hot tears streaked down his cheeks. He huddled her underneath him as best as he could, and looked up to see the dragons as they came.

They were not attacking. The were in a circle around him, watching him expectantly.

From above, the dragon flew down and landed before him.

“You have saved her,” it said. “Too bad.

“She would have died. You would have continued to suffer. We could have wrought sufficient harm on all you knew.

“You could have been one of us.”

It thrust its head forward until its face was directly in front of his. “Now vengeance is no longer permitted. The execution is stayed. But be warned. We will be watching. If you offer further offense, we will return.”

The dragons vanished.

Forcing his wounded body to work, he sat up, pulled Jen up. She turned and sobbed into his shoulder. He held her uncertainly for a while, then stood her up and began to walk her down to the car. After a while, she withdrew from his touch, saying nothing. When he opened the door, she got in without saying a word. He went to his side and started the car, began to drive her home. Though it made him rigid with pain, he could not let his back touch the seat.

After a moment he said, “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. It was me. I seduced you because I thought I could.” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I’ve been an absolute bastard. I’m sorry.” He hoped he meant it.

She said nothing, but her tears started again.

“I . . .” He fell silent. You could have been one of us. “I want you to teach me how to be a human being. I’m not much good at it, I guess.”

She swallowed, then looked at him. “Steve, after what you’ve done to me, if you ever touch me again I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t blame you.” After that, he was at a loss for what to say.

She was silent for a long time. “Talk to me tomorrow,” she said finally.

He led her up to her home, but did not touch her. She went in. She had stopped crying.

He drove home. The dragons had mauled his back, but none of the cuts felt deep enough to need a doctor. As with his knee, the dragons had chosen to inflict pain rather than permanent damage. His shirt would probably end up with the sheets he had thrown away, though. Before he walked in, he tore it off his back.

The fabric took the beginnings of scabs with it. He stumbled, fell to his knees. But his wounded knee would not support him. For a time, he lay with his face in the snow and let tears fall. But it was only physical pain. He had inflicted worse on Jen. Because of what he owed her, he forced himself up.

He wandered into the house in a kind of daze, an unfamiliar feeling in his heart. He went downstairs, and Crystal was waiting for him with tears in her eyes. “He’s gone,” she said. “He’s gone.” The words were neither sad nor longing. “Some day I might even recover from what he did.”

“I’d take it back if I could,” he answered in a quiet voice because the pain impeded anything louder. “I wish I had never done it.”

She seemed to know what he was talking about. “But you did.” Somehow, she managed to smile at him. “Eventually, I’ll recover. Unless you’re dumb enough to invite him back.”

“I’d like to think I’m not that dumb.” He shrugged. “But my track record’s not that good. I’ll try. I’ll try.” Head bowed, he walked in to his room to find a change of clothing. The remnants of his comic books still littered the floor. He did not think that they would have come back anyway.

“I haven’t suffered enough,” he whispered.

In spite of that conviction – or because of it – he felt something like a presage of peace enter his heart.

In the distance, the winter bells were ringing.