Alannah stared hard at the ledger, but the numbers didn't change. Dragons weren't as lucrative as she'd hoped: no one was buying Grandmother's charms. And the thread wards she'd created sat where they had for the last three years; collecting pixie dust under the counter.
At this rate, she wouldn't make it two weeks. The shop would fold long before that happened.
The shop bell rang. A client - finally. Alannah pushed herself to her feet and pasted on a smile. The mayor walked through the door, hesitant and clutching a little blue box.
"Mayor McCannan." She eyed the man. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Clara asked me to give these to you." He set the box down and opened it. Nestled inside were six tiny cakes, frosted with sugar. "Something to do with... flowers? I hope you know what that means, because I have no idea what she's talking about."
Alannah huffed out a laugh. William. "Thank you." She never could resist baked goods. The cake melted on her tongue, fluffy and flavoured with almond. "Delicious."
The mayor smiled and wandered to the window. A pixie lounged on the sill, half-drunk and giggling. It flew away as the man approached. "It's been three days," he muttered, glaring out the window at the blackened fields, "and that creature hasn't gone anywhere. What is it waiting for?"
"It must still be hungry." She plucked a second cake and swallowed it in a few bites.
"What would your Grandmother have done?" the mayor asked, turning to lean against the sill.
Alannah paused. She should be used to it by now, the way people disregarded her as a witch, but it still hurt. "Fight it," she admitted. Grandmother had a talent for fire storms and hurricanes. Even a dragon wouldn't have survived that.
"What about other witches?" McCannan continued. "Is there anyone who could help?"
"Not that I know of." They'd lost touch with the covens when Grandmother had moved out here, just after her mother died. A surge of dizziness made her vision swim and she blinked rapidly. "I'm not in contact with any other - any other witches." The dizziness wasn't going away.
Mayor McCannon exhaled. "I thought you'd say that."
Her bell rang again, and two tall men slipped through the door. Alannah peered at them. Farmers. She knew them, but - why couldn't she remember their names?
She stumbled and clutched at the counter. Her gaze fell on the little dusted cakes. "These aren't from Clara," she said, hoarsely.
"No," the mayor confirmed. "Clara's much too kind to do something like this. You understand, don't you? I couldn't let that beast take my own daughter."
Alannah tried to speak, but her lips were numb. No, but the thought skittered away from her as her vision went dark.
~*~
She woke tied to a pole and surrounded by sheep. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. "Drugs," she muttered. "I mean, seriously? They couldn't have thought up something more original?"
The sheep ignored her, seemingly unaware of their upcoming doom.
She wriggled, wincing as the rope cut into her wrists. The post she was tied to had been driven into the ground in a hurry; it was listing a little to the side and the earth at its foot hadn't been packed in properly - clearly these kidnappers were amateurs.
Alannah twisted to look behind her, but the village was hidden by the slope of the hill, once green and lush with grass, now brown and scorched. "They could have at least given me a sword," she muttered.
And the dress. The dress. What kind of self-respecting princess wandered around in silk slippers and a white satin tent? Her shoulders were freezing.
The smell of wood smoke clung to the air, but it wasn't as comforting as usual. "Where the hell is that knight?" she muttered. William was a poor excuse for a knight, but he was the only one they had. And he was late.
A piercing shriek cut through the sound of the wind and descended into a low, growling rumble which trembled through her chest. The sheep startled and huddled together. They were either too stupid to run or their instinct knew a dragon when it heard one.
Alannah swore and resumed her struggle. She twisted her hands, wriggling against the rope. Her wrists stung. Another high, piercing shriek. Closer. It was definitely coming closer.
Then the pole shifted. Holding her breath, she moved again in the same way. Again it moved.
"Thank the goddess." She closed her hands around the pole and threw her weight to the side. The pole moved again, groaning as it pulled against the earth. The sheep had given up trying to find edible bracken amongst the charred earth and were watching her, wide-eyed. "Oh, come on." She hurled her body in the other direction. With a groan, the pole upended and crashed to the earth. Alannah grunted as she hit the ground.
The rope was looped around the pole as well as her wrists. She crawled along the ground, sliding her bindings over the pole towards the tip, inch by inch. Finally, when her wrists were raw and her back was aching, the rope slipped off the end and she was free.
Exhaling, Alannah brushed off the ends of the rope and rubbed her aching wrists. She was going to use one of her Grandmother's charms to turn that mayor into a toad.
Then a gust of hot, brimstone-infused air blew her ridiculous skirts in every direction. Alannah swallowed, turned around. There, on the slope of the hill, looking - amused, for there was no other way to describe it - stood the dragon.
Her limbs went cold. It was much, much bigger than it'd looked from a distance. Its four legs were tipped with wicked-looking talons and its wings were half-raised and twice the length of its body. It tilted its head, horse-like but for its crown of horns. Its scales weren't black, like she'd thought, but a violet so dark it looked like jet.
One knight wouldn't be enough against this thing. An army wouldn't be enough against this thing. Her gaze flicked to the edge of the hill, which sloped down toward the village. I could make it if I run.
The dragon snorted as if it could hear her.
I'll end up cremated if I run, she corrected. Perhaps cremation was better than a slow, disintegrating death within its digestive system.
Somewhere behind her a sheep bleated and the dragon twitched. It snapped forward and the sheep disappeared inside a wide, fanged maw.
Definitely better to go for cremation.
Alannah bolted towards the village. She got three steps before the ground vanished beneath her feet. Her head dropped forward, suddenly much heavier, and the earth - and the fluffy white sheep - shrank. Long, vicious claws gripped her torso, squeezing the breath out of her. Alannah closed her eyes tightly and concentrated on not being sick. Bad enough that she was going to get eaten; she could at least bear it without emptying the contents of her stomach all over the stupid white dress.
But long minutes passed and she remained alive. Gradually, the roar of the wind and the swooping sensation in her stomach became easier to bear. The claws didn't loosen, but they didn't tighten and crush her to death, either. Maybe this dragon liked his (fake) princesses in one piece.
She'd soon find out.