The Silver Moon Elm Read Free Page B

learner’s permit than a blank stare.
    The Mustang rolled agreeably enough along the dirt highway, shifting abruptly an inch or two left or right just often enough to keep Jennifer’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. Catherine’s winged form sailed across the potato field to their left, anticipating the farm, which would be just past that line of trees up ahead, and then around the bend where the wildflowers and grasses grew…
    When the first of her grandfather’s enormous beehives emerged from the grassy knolls to their left, Jennifer let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The neat hives lined the south lawn like buzzing sentry towers, and behind them were the fields of strange wildflowers and the herds of sheep, still faithfully maintained. Beyond them, the sparkling lake shimmered through the copses of maples, pines, and oaks to the north. Not far from its shore was the farmhouse: sprawling, white, green-shuttered, with a wraparound porch and more rocking chairs in sight than she could count. She knew the large porch and grill were in back, along with a larger barbeque pit for guests…and off to one side, the grave marker her mother and she had set up for Crawford Scales. Just a few steps from the marker, it was possible to fall into the lake, cool and with a taste of liquid diamonds.
    The car stopped with a small, quick squeal of brakes at the end of the driveway, and as one the gang unsnapped their seat belts. “C’mon,” Jennifer said. “I’ll show you round the back. Stay behind me, because—”
    Skip almost shoved her aside in his rush to get around the corner of the “cabin” (as the Scales family still affectionately called it). “Whatever. What’s the big freaking—whoa!” His feet stuck to the bed of pine needles that lined the gravel driveway. Eddie and Susan pulled up short behind him, and Jennifer heard Susan let out a small whimper.
    A few feet from the back porch, a pit that would have swallowed the Mustang was filled with fire and the delicious smell of roasting sheep. Around the smoke-filled edges, in murmured conversation punctuated with raucous laughter, were a dozen dragons. As one, their necks craned and they took in the visitors with reptilian coolness.
    “Hey, Joseph,” Jennifer called out after an uncomfortable silence.
    Joseph, an eighteen-year-old lavender creeper who looked after the farm for the Scales, snorted. “Hey, Jennifer. You brought friends.”
    “Yeah.” She momentarily reconsidered the wisdom of bringing them all here. After a brief surge of anxiety, she straightened her shoulders. “Did Catherine already show?”
    His dark, scaled claw pointed to the porch doors. “Inside.”
    “Great. Save a bit o’ mutton for me, guys.” With that, she led the others inside.
    “Um, Jennifer.” Susan’s voice was very small as they hustled themselves into the library. “There are twelve dragons in your backyard.”
    “Twelve big dragons,” Skip chimed in. He was still grinning, but there was a certain awe in his voice. “And I’m not sure they’re all thrilled we’re here.”
    Susan tried on a smile for her best friend. “Good thing we’re with you!”
    Skip sniggered. “I don’t think all of them are that crazy about Jennifer, either.”
    “She’s not in dragon shape,” Eddie observed quietly. It was the first time he had spoken since they had arrived, and he stared at the gathering by the fire pit. “They don’t like the reminder of her beaststalker side.”
    Jennifer ignored the uncomfortable turn the conversation had taken. “Hey, Catherine. You around?”
    “In here!” Catherine’s voice came from the kitchen. “Car still intact?”
    “Give or take a wheel. Bring out the ketchup, will you?” Jennifer turned to the other three. “There’s plenty of snacks in the refrigerator, if you don’t want sheep. I remember the first one I had—it was a bit weird.”
    As Eddie and Susan headed into the kitchen, Skip turned to her.