cavaliers were no competition for me. I knew that if I beckoned to them, they would follow me obediently. It wasn’t just magic. The charms of fallen angels had always captivated women. And the fact that I am a slumbering dragon, in love affairs does not prevent me at all. But as soon as the hostess looked at me, and I felt almost in love, the dragon inside me stirred angrily. He was reflected in the full-length mirror on the wall. It was a blessing that Simonetta, the organizer of the assembly, didn’t see him. Even if she did, it didn’t scare her away at all.
The elixir of blood and heather seems to be working as it should. The attraction is so strong that there are no more barriers, and it doesn’t matter that the dragon inside me is furiously moving its claws and trying to get out. I’m certainly not going to burn the lady I like.
A gust of wind blew open the window, extinguishing all the candles in the nearest candelabra. How like the intervention of someone’s magic! Even if it is Rose, let her be jealous. I don’t care. I should teach her a lesson someday. I exhaled a thin stream of flame to re-light the extinguished candles. Simonetta looked at me with the same sympathy. Beside her, a dozen other beauties had also taken a fancy to me. I could recognize their names before they were introduced to me. There were Leonella, Barbara, Jodetta, Irena, Felina, Jeanine, Marietta… The names swirled in my head like fall leaves. They were as varied and beautiful as the ladies. Brunettes, shades, redheads, blondes, curly or slender, green-eyed or brown-eyed, swarthy or white-faced – I liked them all. For the first time I chose Lisette, a mischievous coquette who beckoned me from the noisy hall to a secluded boudoir. The cup with the bloody elixir appeared in my hands. I offered the girl a drink.
“Is it communion with blood?” She was surprised.
“What do you mean?” I was as surprised as she was.
“That’s what all the followers of St. Augustine do.”
Oh, then it’s no wonder she confused witchcraft with communion. Though, in fact, religion and witchcraft are two sides of the same coin, like God and the devil. Something one means good, something the other evil, but not everything is perfectly simple.
“They put blood in the communion cup to inflame the passion in the parishioners they’re attracted to,” Lisette explained, as if she’d been through something like this herself. “But I like you as you are. Whoever you are, you are very handsome.”
The dragon in me is beautiful too. He is golden and winged and his eyes sparkle with amethyst brilliance, but he can breathe fire. Lisette felt the heat of the flames from my nostrils, nevertheless, gently ran her hand through my curls.
“It is like gold!” She said. “To attract a girl you don’t need to use religion like a witchcraft ritual at all.”
But to attract a girl, I had to drink from the cup. So, according to Augustine’s followers, it’s called blood communion. It was just one sip to forget Rose and rekindle my passion for other women. And then the cup was thrown away and Lisette was in my arms. And it didn’t matter that the bas-reliefs on the bowl groaned and moved, and the dragon in the mirror hissed furiously.
Heart in the fire
How strange it was that I fell asleep in a girl’s arms and woke up in a bed showered with ashes. Did I burn something in the night? I don’t remember! In fact, Lisette herself is as good as gone. I don’t remember girls leaving me so quickly. Usually they want to get to know each other. Besides, it’s her house, not mine.
There was a suspicious amount of ash on the sheets. It scattered in clumps under my palms, swirling in the air like black snowfall. Something had definitely burned during the night. But what was it? Was it maybe the canopy? It had burnt holes in places, but the frame itself was intact.
Where’s Lisette?
Particles of ash settled on the tea tray, on the dressing table, on the nightstands, but the room was empty. There was no one hiding in the drawers of the dresser. I kept waiting for a gremlin to pop out of them. In case I was with Rose, that’s what would happen. But this was Lisette’s bedroom, the mortal girl. She didn’t have gremlins.
But down the hall, I noticed cages of colorful parrots. I’d have to ask them where the lady of the house had gone so early. I got up, dressed, and went downstairs. There were no servants to be seen, but the parrots were very happy that someone understood their speech. I understood the language of all animals and beasts, so I could have a long conversation with the brightly colored birds. The parrots turned out to be avid talkers. They reported to me everything that happened in the house and all the lovers the mistress had taken before me. On the subject of the latter they were fond of gloating. But as for the mistress herself, my curiosity as to her whereabouts puzzled them.
“She hasn’t come out yet,” admitted a large parrot with a red crest.
“What do you mean, she hasn’t come out?” She couldn’t have flown out the window. “Surely your mistress is not a magician?”
The parrot almost laughed in his hoarse bird tongue.
“We haven’t seen her since last night,” the other parrots replied politely. “She must be somewhere in the house?”
“Are there no hiding places?”
They shook their colorful heads in the negative.
“All right, I’ll come back and look for her later,” I had no intention of playing hide-and-seek with Lisette. There were plenty of other charming ladies besides her. I didn’t like silly games.
On my way out, I came upon a strange man who was on duty at the fountain, looking at Lisette’s window and making a quick charcoal sketch in a blank sketchbook. An artist! I tried not to socialize with artists after my failed relationship with Marcel. I was still drawn to them, though. I found it kind of magical how they create a drawing out of nothing. All they have in front of them is a blank sheet of paper on which an image gradually emerges. And they don’t need magic to do it. I secretly respected painters. Their talent for drawing was akin to my gift of sorcery.
So when the stranger said hello to me, I returned the greeting. Although everyone knows it’s not customary to greet strangers as if they were longtime friends. But he acted as if he had known me for a long time. He was wearing a long crimson cloak with a silver braid. It was fastened at the shoulder by a buckle in the shape of a manticore. I’ve seen one of these buckles somewhere before.
“I know a wonderful shop nearby that sells beautiful urns and chests for ashes,” he said, pointing with a lump of charcoal to the left.
“And you think I need them?” I wondered if he was mocking me.
“I thought one of the fire fairy urns would be for Mistress Lisette,” the guy looked confused that I didn’t understand him. But I never discussed any purchases with anyone.
“Why would you think that?” I grinned and walked on by. If Lisette was going to buy something outlandish, that was her business. I had enough urns, vases, amphorae, and fortress-shaped chests in my castle, so I wasn’t intrigued by a shabby shop where a suspiciously troll-like creature was selling pottery. Yes, the urns were molded with faces and figures of fairies, gorgons, firewomen, nymphs, and mermaids, but it was nothing unusual to me. Only one vase caught my eye for a moment. On its sides stretched in bas-relief a whole circle
