The Dream Keeper's Dragon

2.8 Mongrels

Just before sundown, Peter came down the stairs and asked that Aurelie set the table. Apparently, they were having a party.

A thick chunk of green paint clung to his sideburns, and his fingers reminded her of a mixing pallet with all the different colors that clung to them. The amount of paint on him altogether could have completed a small painting.

When she reached for a stack of plates, Peter stopped her by placing a hand on the plates that she wanted to pick up. "No, not that many! How many people do you think can handle my wit?" he asked.

She assumed that setting the table meant setting the entire table. "I don't know, Peter. How many?"

"Three."

Aurelie nodded and took three white plates from the top of the stack.

If it was going to be a party which Alysia , Aurelie wasn't going to make it past the first bite. The paintings and the stories she could live through, but having him set a place for a dead woman would be too much. What if he made them speak? Did common courtesy suggest that she pushed through it and pretended to speak to someone who was not there? She wrestled with the idea of him having an imaginary friend for a few hours, thinking up scenarios of what this woman could make him do. Among them all, feeding wasn't the worst she could come up with. Aurelie was, after all, living in his house wage free, and he had started feeding her more. If she had to, she'd speak to Alysia. Gods, she'd even spoon-feed her.

Aurelie turned to hide her smile and shook her head.

"Is the third plate for Alysia?" she asked casually while walking out of the room. Normality was the way to handle these things, she guessed.

Peter did not respond and Aurelie turned to find out why. He stood with his hand on his hip, with a bewildered look on his face.

"Good God, child, how mad do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're mad," she lied.

Her words sparked a feeling of guilt within her. She had just roamed his house against his will and forced him to tell the truth, and now she was letting her hypocrisy lead her. Before he could call her out, she spoke again, "I'm sorry, Peter, that was a lie. I did not believe you this morning. I wanted to but your story is ridiculous."

Peter grabbed a cloth that lay near the extra plates that she had just set down and wiped the counter.

"You have to understand," she paused for a moment, trying to guess his reaction by his blank expression, "the story . . . it's a lot to take in. You're a man claiming to have been married to a god."

Aurelie lowered her gaze when he didn't respond and walked out of the room toward the dining table. Hurting his feelings was not her intention. Although, she was well aware that the truth would bruise him. Better bruised than made a fool! If he was anything like her, he would prefer bluntness over lies.

Pots and glass clanked, louder than necessary, in the kitchen. Aurelie placed the plates on the only empty corner of the table.

There was a small closet in the corner that was about a head shorter than she was. It was made from dark wood and engraved with runes that she did not recognize. Books were stacked on top of and next to each other on the shelves and on the very top. Aurelie had to pull a chair nearer and climb on top to reach the edge of the book mountain.

Peter's angry footsteps tapped loudly into the room. "I understand these little people that shy away from me. They've only known witches who hide behind the faces of human beings and pretend that they are one and the same. But you? What is it that is so ridiculous to you? Are you not a girl that breathes fire?" He stood at the door with the cloth still in hand. It was ragged and stained brown in patches—thought still in better shape than her dress.