The Last of the Firedrakes [Watty Award Winner 2015]

CHAPTER 1 - CHANCE

My fingers balled into fists, and I was moments away from punching her in the face. "They were not lying around. They were on my desk."

Her eyes narrowed. "Like I said, you should have taken better care of your things."

Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to make up some plausible story about my lost homework. My history teacher was not going to be pleased, but I had long since discovered that arguing with Cornelia never got me anywhere. She always wanted the last word and would go to any lengths to make sure that she got the better of me.

I glanced at the mirror. There was no point in bothering with my unruly black hair, which had now grown so long it touched my waist. Tying it in a rough ponytail would have to suffice.

"My mom is supposed to drive us to school," Cornelia said as we rushed downstairs. "You know how she hates to be kept waiting."

Aunt Arianna was standing in the kitchen, drumming her cherry-colored false fingernails on the counter, looking extremely irritated. Her dark, wispy hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, and her sharp, beady eyes glared daggers at me when I walked in. "Can't you ever be on time, Aurora?" Her voice had a scathing tone to it. "Tardiness is not tolerated in this house."

I gave her a sulky nod.

"For the life of me, I cannot figure out why my husband agreed to take you in," my aunt continued as she picked up the car keys from the counter. "If it were up to me, I would have sent you back to the slum you came from." She shot a glance at me, and her lips curved upward in a sneer. "You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can't take the gutter out of the girl."

Cornelia laughed at this and gave me a sly grin, nodding her head.

I flinched at her harsh words but chose to ignore them. That was the only way to deal with my aunt when she got like this. She was waiting for me to react so she could find some more insults to hurl at me. It wasn't as if this were the first time she had said something like this. I was used to it, in a way. I knew my aunt hated me and didn't want me staying in her house. It was my uncle, Christopher, who had insisted I stay with them until I turned eighteen. I had tried being courteous and respectful, and I cleaned my room and helped with the chores, but she was still nasty to me whenever she got a chance. After a while I had given up trying.

So I kept my mouth shut and got into the backseat of my aunt's battered blue Volvo. She handed me a piece of toast as she got in and shot me a withering glare. "I don't want you fainting in school because you had no time to eat breakfast."

I raised my eyebrows. "Thank you."

She started the car. "Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you. I just don't want to be called into school to pick you up later today. I have a very busy day ahead, and I don't have any time for your silly fainting spells."

My spine stiffened and I gritted my teeth. I had to keep reminding myself that I only had to stay with them for a little while longer. I couldn't wait to turn eighteen; only then would I be free of the tyranny of my Aunt Arianna and Cornelia, both of whom were also probably counting the days until I left their house.

Unruly tears welled in my eyes, but I brushed them away quickly. It had been two years since my adoptive parents died in a horrific car crash, and I had been staying with my adoptive father's brother, his wife, and his daughter at their London home ever since. It was a small, comfortable townhouse in Chelsea, and I guess I was lucky that they'd agreed to be my guardians; I don't think they really needed to, since I was not actually family, just adopted. But anything was better than being put in the foster system.

Although one and a half years is not really such a long time, to me, at that moment, it seemed like a lifetime.

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