Not Just Ponies: Dragons of Pennsylvania

Chapters

Dancing with Dragons
Fighting for Dragons
Lawsuits and Dragons
Dragons and Courtrooms
Bombs and Dragons
Working with Dragons

Dancing with Dragons

Two hours later the sun was no more than a dimming crimson glow in the west as Bram and a rested Cynthia left the house.

“Miss Stoltz,” Bram wondered how to go ahead with this.

“Miss Stoltz? My, so formal,” Cynthia grinned and slapped him lightly on one arm. “It's not the company making you uneasy, so I suppose it must be the clothes?” She stepped in front of him and pirouetted with surprising grace as she showed her faux-fur bikini and loincloth. Her money pouch hung at her waist, the sole intrusive aspect. Beside the six foot tall winged dragon woman, that was. “Not as ornate as my old hall costume, but given my new status as barbarian reptile from another dimension, I think it'll do. Like it?” She posed saucily, claw on hip.

“Well, yes,” Bram wondered what the heck was filling that bikini quite so well, and reminded himself it wasn't his business. You better not be falling in love with a lizard woman, boy, that's against the laws of God, Man, and Siegfried County. At least, as of the moment. He still watched Cynthia as she moved to the car. Despite her new digitigrade stance and loss of her breasts and most human secondary sexual characteristics, she still had curves and moved like an attractive woman, if that made sense. Try and remember the old woman who helped with your mother –

An image flashed, him holding his shuddering Mom close as Cynthia thrust the plastic basin under her mouth to catch the bile and blood that spewed out.

No. Thinking of her as a pretty dragon woman is a million times better than remembering that. Why must those be the memories I have of Mom – other than because I failed her miserably, didn't keep her alive for the Conversion Bureau to save her?

“Something wrong?” Cynthia seemed merry but he caught the concern in her voice.

“Just wondering how I'll handle all the jealousy from those dragons tonight when they see me with you,” Bram bowed gallantly. Cynthia gave him a gentle tail-swat that still felt like a hard slap as he let her in the old compact.

“At least you're dressed right,” she touched his denim jacket. “Blue jeans and a strong shirt will be for the best when I remember what Volcano told me about dragon parties. They sounded like bar brawls when he described them.”

Bram started the car and backed out, turning the radio on. The news once again, about another armed robbery of a Conversion Bureau after hours and the theft of several pounds of gemstones and the wreckage of part of the assembled potions. It said, “...mostly potions for would-be dragons, griffons, and Diamond Dogs. The Bureau has promised to restock as soon as possible, and to increase their security after this, the fifth such robbery and vandalism of one of their clinics in several weeks...” Bram shut it off.

Cynthia shook her head. “Idiots. I can get snatching the gems, those are valuable, but why ruin the potions too? The Bureaus' job is already hard enough. No point to making their job even more difficult.” Her voice dropped into a growl. “Unless some people just want to watch everyone die.”

“I've heard that the Bureaus won't be able to save everyone, or even half so many,” Bram watched the traffic as he maneuvered. He flicked the lights to high-beam; this town needed to spend some money on better street lights. While anyone remained who'd need them, anyway.

Cynthia's ear membranes folded slightly shut, like a dog pinning its ears.

“I hope you're not saying they won't even try, like those crazy Human Front-whatever do,” Cynthia growled. He heard her claws slide over the back of his seat. “The Veil was a surprise to everyone. No one knew what would happen when it first contacted human life.”

“But they knew after.” Bram near whispered. Cynthia fell silent.

He wished he'd never seen the pictures taken by the security cameras on that one naval ship that'd leaked to the mass media. It tried penetrating the Veil before anyone knew what it was. Cynthia had been human then, his mother still alive, watching the big TV in the Topton rec room as they all saw the footage of human beings clawing, begging, screaming, as their bodies just became so much dust as the Veil washed over them.

He shook himself. They say it's quick. The few volunteers who went through after to test hoped for anti-Veil treatments or equipment, before we knew it was useless, were gone in a heartbeat.

But they still screamed.

“Maybe the gems are what they want and they just smash the potions as a blind. Or the potions are the target and the gemstones are a lagniappe. Or they just think if we're all gonna die, why not bust some shit – sorry, I mean, why not indulge in some vandalism before the end?”

“I've heard profanity before.” Cynthia sat back and snorted. “Even used it, though not as commonly as people do right now. Oh, and something Volcano hinted at with us, you and some of the other humans may get a surprise at the party tonight.”

“A surprise.” Bram looked into the mirror. Cynthia smiled wickedly, lips curled back just enough to show the fangtips. “Usually when you hear words like that at a time like this it means someone's going to end up stripped naked and on the evening TV news. Maybe I should say on YouTube. Any hints?”

Cynthia smirked and made a zipping up her mouth gesture.

Bram put the brakes on. He saw her in the mirror. Cynthia looked at him with wide and confused eyes.

“I can always drop you off right here and go home myself. I mean it, Cyn,” and he turned to glare at her. “I've been played for a fool before. I didn't care for it. I won't put up with it again.”

Cynthia looked ready to argue. With a sigh she leaned back, her horns bumping the back of her seat. “Okay. Volcano made a deal with the Conversion Bureau. He'll have six scrolls at the party.”

“Huh?” Bram blinked. This sounded vaguely familiar. Too vaguely. “Scrolls? What scrolls?”

“Transforming ones. You know,” Cynthia leaned forward, her wings spreading slightly and golden eyes alight in her excitement. “They've been mentioned on the news more than once. You read one and it can transform you into a young adult version of one of the Equestrian races for a day. Volcano's going to be using dragon ones.” She sounded gleeful. “You wondered what it was like to be a dragon? Tonight you can find out. Breathe fire, fly,” her wings rustled, “see and hear and smell like we can...”

“I have a pretty good idea how much you smell,” Bram said innocently. Hard scaly knuckles thumped against the back of his head.

“Jerk,” Cynthia said without rancor. One or two cars passed by them, lights bright. Bram wondered what they must think of a man stopped on the road with a New Whelp in the back seat. He doubted it was anything polite. “No, think. You asked a couple of times what being a dragon is like? Tonight, you can find out.”

“What a thrill,” Bram said. “Can the gang swing by Tokyo later?” Cynthia stuck her inches-long tongue out at him. He wondered something. “Hey, if they can just transform people into young adult dragons, then why not use them to transform people in place of the potions? No needing to wait fifty or sixty years to become a teenage dragon, or needing lessons on how to fly and breathe fire.”

Cynthia shook her head.

“Wouldn't work. Volcano and the Bureau ponies explained it. The scrolls merely change your physical form, not your,” she waved one claw by her muzzle, “your essential nature or soul, I guess. That's more difficult but also far less likely to be dispelled by magical countermeasures. That and the scrolls are temporary; apparently the instilling not just new instincts but the knowledge of how to use them takes more magical energy. Lastly,” she looked at him and raised one claw in warning like Volcano, “if you did manage to make the scroll transformation permanent, you'd be in that form and age for the rest of your life. I'm a dragon now. I'll be as big as a jumbo jet one day,” she looked proud, “but with the scroll? You'd be stuck at teenager-size forever.” She worked in the seat to get comfortable. “Apparently it was suggested to the dragons back in Equestria, but they refused. To them, a dragon forever denied their full growth and strength is a pitiful thing.”

“But no worries about that,” Cynthia almost purred. “In fact, no worries at all! Let's both have fun for once, fly under the moonlight, have a fire-breathing contest, dance without me worrying that an accidental tail slap will pulverize you.” She gripped his shoulder. “I just want to have some fun, and I want you to as well, okay?”

“Okay,” Bram said, smiling himself at her enthusiasm. Who ever said dragons were cold-blooded? He pulled back out onto the road. “Tomorrow I'll worry again but tonight we whoop it up.”

#

Dragons soared over the Steel Stacks.

Twin floodlights sprayed up into the darkness all around the old Bethlehem Steel blast furnaces. Long plumes of fire shot up from the roof of the main building and bat-winged forms flew over it. They looped and wheeled and called laughingly to each other. The main lot was crammed with cars, vans, even a few trucks with what looked like horse trailers attached.

“Those will be for Volcano and the other instructors, the big ones anyway,” Cynthia looked excited. “He said that most of the dragons in the Mid-Atlantic will be here tonight, Equestrian-born ones and New Whelps, maybe as many as two or three hundred.” She clapped her claws as the sound of music came from one of the buildings, a heavy steady metallic lyric-less thoom-thoom-thoom that Bram felt shaking his teeth even at this distance. Cynthia clapped her claws in glee. “Oh, I always wanted to dance to some of that music! I mean, I hope they have some 50's rock and old big band like I remember from my dating days, but I want to dance to that too!”

“I should have brought my earplugs,” Bram muttered. He enjoyed seeing Cynthia so happy. He just wished she didn't bounce up and down so much, the car bouncing and squealing along with her; he didn't want to think what it was doing to the shocks.

He slowed as they approached the front gate. A roadblock was set up, letting only one vehicle through at a time. Some very no-nonsense looking humans and ponies were there, both local police and what he'd been told were Equestrian Royal Guard seconded to the conversion centers for security. The latter wore what looked like Classical Greek and Rome themed barding, all in either gold for the unicorns and pegasi or deep purple for the bat-winged ponies with fangs. The ponies bore lances in side-mounted harnesses. Some had swords with those cup-hilts made to fit over the end of a pony's hoof. The human police bore their usual sidearms and what looked like spray cans at their belts.

Cynthia started impatiently tapping her claws against a scaly leg as they slowly pulled up to the gate. It sounded like hard rain on a tin roof. “Can't they hurry?”

“Sir,” one officer said as Bram pulled up. “Here for the New Whelp party?”

“You tell me,” Cynthia snapped from the back seat.

“Very nice, madam.” The officer's hand slipped towards the spray can and then stopped. Bram caught a hint of the words 'bear mace'. He nodded; that would affect even a dragon where low-caliber bullets wouldn't. “The main building right over there is where the party is --” He pointed at the one with the small crowd of dragons standing outside and flying above it, and that heavy pounding music coming from it.

“Truly it is well hidden,” Bram said. The officer's glare suggested he'd heard enough clowns for one night.

“Yes, sir.” He looked at Bram. He looked back at Cynthia's outfit, then at Bram again, and his mouth twisted as though he'd eaten something sour. “You her guest?”

“He is,” Cynthia said. She set her claw on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Someone has to try keeping her out of trouble, officer,” Bram said, trying his best to be respectful. Unhappy police had lousy senses of humor. The officer scowled. He looked heavy-built and tired and to have way too much seniority to be enduring this crap. “Any reason for all the security tonight?”

“Just being careful,” one of the bat-ponies behind the police officer said. He half turned waved his hoof at the building. The officer hurriedly got out of the way of the lance point protruding beyond the thestral's armored chest. “Those robberies did happen recently, and there are a lot of clinic personnel here from all through the Atlantic-Middle --”

“Mid-Atlantic.” Bram, Cynthia, and the officer all said it at once.

“Mid-Atlantic,” the thestral said without missing a beat. “If someone wanted to 'make a statement' they could do worse than to do it here. We couldn't stop them if they were determined enough.” He seemed to realize he'd said too much to be reassuring. He quickly added, “Not that anything will.”

The officer just nodded and waved them through. Bram felt the butterflies start up in his stomach as he drove past. He doubted anything would happen. Most HLF antics were, when you got right down to it, noisy demonstrations that got a lot of undue attention and amounted to absolutely nothing. But here? He looked around, past the new and refurbished buildings used for parties and art shows and movies to the rusting and abandoned Bethlehem Steel beyond. Those buildings loomed huge and silent, with plenty of room for just about anyone to hide out. Past them rose that eyesore casino the Sands.

“Cynthia,” he parked the car and let her out, “if you and your dragon pals ever decided to burn anything in this town down...” Cynthia silenced him with a groan and a shake of her head.

“Please, Bram, not the casino again!” She stretched with a grunt. Her cavewoman outfit moved in highly interesting ways. “Bethlehem isn't the town it once was. We're not the people we once were.” She wagged her spiky tail in emphasis. “Like your mother used to say, 'life goes on, will it or not.'

“I just wish the city found something better to try reviving the economy than that,” he grumbled. “Even if the two and four legged tourists love it.”

She held out her arm for him to take. He gladly accepted. They walked towards the party. The vibrations from the music shook right through their bones. Bram watched all around as they walked. The parking lot was well lit, but once you got past it and into the rest of the complex shadows lay everywhere. Anyone could be in among them waiting to jump you. He reminded himself to be careful. He did NOT want to be embarrassed in front of Cynthia and the other dragons.

So of course that was when someone slammed into him.

Cynthia, Bram, and his attacker all yelled at once. Bram stumbled and fell with whoever it was landing on him, elbow sinking into his belly. He gagged.

“Bram! Are you alright?” A scaly arm reached down and hurled his attacker off to the side. As Cynthia did it his attacker shrieked.

“Let go a' me, you dumb lizard!” He stepped back, slapping Cynthia's claws away. Bram recognized him as one of the Lehigh University guys who'd wolf-whistled Cynthia earlier. He didn't look quite so happy to be seeing her now. A long tear showed in his jacket. When he saw it he gave a yell and started waving his fist at her. “My jacket! You stupid scaly bitch! You ruined it! You're gonna pay for a new one!”

Bram opened his mouth to say something, but before he could that familiar voice spoke. A shadow fell across Lehigh and Bram both.

“Will she indeed, hatchling? I doubt it.” Volcano's claw darted down and snatched the kid up by the scruff of the jacket. He dangled before the larger dragon's muzzle. Twin streams of smoke trickled from his nostrils. That long tongue flickered over the half exposed fangs, leaving them gleaming with saliva. Behind him Bram saw three other dragons, teens by their sizes, only slightly larger than a normal human. Lehigh choked and went silent as Volcano said, “You were told to leave after trying to force your way in with your clutch.” Volcano waved Lehigh over towards several frat boys, all of whom looked like they badly wanted to be somewhere else, “When that failed, you stood at the door and made odd noises at the dragonesses.”

Lehigh worked his mouth for several moments before intelligible sounds began to emerge. “Look, Mister Lizard, I, ah, I swear I was just joking. Just some fun. Those ladies didn't mind, did they?” He looked in desperation at the dragonesses.

“Bite the ape's head off for all I care,” one slim pink-scaled one said, sporting long spiraling horns and a tail almost as long as her body. She leaned back on it, her feet almost clear of the ground. She idly examined her claws. They looked like fishhooks. “I didn't like what he said about my rump.” The other dragons behind her hissed in eager approval.

“Trueborns from Equestria, probably.” Bram whispered to Cynthia. She just nodded.

Lehigh whimpered in terror. His friends looked to be deciding whether to run or just sneak away.

“Maybe I will.” Volcano held him close and sniffed at him. His maw opened as if for an experimental bite. Remaining silent was the wise course.

Bram groaned at his own stupidity and spoke up.

“Volcano? Sir? Perhaps you can let him go? He looks scared to death. I bet he'd be glad to leave if you did.” Volcano frowned at him, showing fang. Bram spoke loudly enough to be heard over the music. “Besides, it'd ruin the party.”

A short sharp bark of draconic laughter came from Big Tail. She walk-slithered closer, using her tail as much as her legs. She sneered down her long slender muzzle. “You don't know much, human, if you think this would ruin our party.”

“It will indeed, young miss,” Bram made sure to remember every single thing he'd read about dragon manners, looking her in the face to show he didn't fear her but not in the eyes to challenge. Keeping looking at her, he pointed back towards the gate. “Because those men and ponies will want to be asking you questions for the rest of the night, and probably the next few days as well.” Struck by inspiration, he said, “And what would Dragon Lord Ember think?”

That got them. The dragons looked at the cowering frat boys and stepped aside. The looks on their faces, fangs bared, smoke rising from nostrils, eyes agleam with bloodlust, suggested they would have loved yanking some of their limbs off. Volcano just grunted, reached over with Lehigh, and dropped him atop his friends.

“Go, hatchlings,” he turned back to the party. Bram noticed he did keep partly turned towards him and Cynthia but set his back to the boys. “Before I decide you are worth my time and trouble.”

They needed no further encouragement. They scrambled to escape.

After they were gone, Volcano slumped and let out something like a bass chuckle. “Idiots.” Laughter rose from the other dragons as he turned that fanged grin on Cynthia and Bram. “You two I know. You can enter.”

“Thank you, Volcano.” Bram sagged in relief. “I'm just glad there was no, ah, unneeded trouble.”

“What, with those?” Volcano snorted again. “Human, had those young fools asked politely if they could enter, I would have let them go. Some strange-to-my-scent humans are already inside. A few more would make no difference.” He smiled as at some pleasant thought. “If they want to make trouble once inside, when surrounded by dragons, they will fall on their own foolishness.”

“I believe they would,” Bram answered him, wishing his voice sounded stronger. He wanted to go inside, but Volcano kept his gaze locked with his. Not wanting to insult the touchy dragon he stood still.

“Just so you know, human, there may be a few surprises later tonight for you and yours,” Volcano lowered his head and looked Bram in the eye. “Watch how you behave and they may be pleasant surprises.”

Meanwhile the younger dragons went crowding around Cynthia, full of questions.

“Well, New Whelp, how are you called? Cynthia? Sure you want to be called that for eight hundred years, instead of a proper dragon name? What are you wearing? It's fur? Did it come from a griffon? Why do you New Whelps wear clothes anyway, scales are enough... What is that music they play with all the high-pitched sounds – Big Band? Sounds like some pony name. I bet you like it better as a dragon than as some old dying human, don't you? Congratulations on being wise enough to join the best side... Want to dance, dragoness? Or try fire belching, or flying contests, or see who can roar the loudest?”

The last speaker, a male with light gray scales touched with crimson and dark gray wing and ear membranes, set deed to word by tossing his head back and giving a wild roar that echoed off the walls. The others save Volcano immediately tossed their heads back and roared as well. They looked at her eagerly.

Cynthia looked about in confusion. It was one thing to be told how actual dragons acted, another to be confronted by the loud and energetic reality. She gave Bram a wondering look. Her eyes hardened. She threw her head back and roared as loudly as any of them. They cheered. Half the car alarms in the parking lot went off as though applauding.

“Bram! Did you hear that?” Cynthia spun and hugged him. “I – that came out of ME! Last winter I had to be on oxygen for my cold. This is better than I ever imagined!”

“I think I heard the first part,” Bram worked his fingers in his ears. Nope, still working. He pointed at the door. “Maybe we can go inside and let the bouncer squad get back to work?”

Cynthia nodded eagerly, all smiles, and they walked into what looked to be Dragon Rave Central. The music, loud outside, felt more like a physical wave beating against him here. Lights flashed, crimson and blue and yellow as the, surprisingly enough, human DJ worked the controls. Heat washed against them; between perhaps a hundred or more dragon bodies, the dragon-supplied fire being used at what seemed to be a wheeled-in barbecue pit for what looked like whole sides of beef - how had they ever swung that by the Stacks and the fire department - and the building itself, it felt like mid-July.

And the crowd. Dragons whooped and howled, their roars audible even over the music, some flying out through the upper-story doors that opened onto the balcony to 'dance' above the building, some down on the floor, and some by the tables piled with barbecued meat. Fangs eagerly crunched through flesh and bone alike. Cynthia licked her lips. He took a whiff as they passed by and almost choked on the smell from whatever the dragons were coating the meat with. Much spicier and it'd set the inside of his nose on fire.

“Smells good,” Cynthia licked her lips and stuck her muzzle in his ear to be heard. “I'm getting some of that before we leave.”

“Normally I love barbecue, but this time, I think I'll bow out.” Bram touched his mouth. “I'd like to have a working tongue left tomorrow.”

They went around the eager scaly mob on the dance floor. He quickly figured out the Equestrian Trueborn dragons from the New Whelps; the Trueborn were making mock-combat moves, claws and fangs flashing, both males and females alike. They were also climbing the large stones that seem to have been put in place for just such use, and occasionally screeching at the top of their considerable lungs for no reason other than the sheer joy of it. Also, they were all teens. So were most of the New Whelps, but some few were hatchlings. They whooped it up as well, non-senior citizen New Whelps who'd need to wait a few decades to hit their dragon teen years.

The other New Whelps just seemed to be enjoying themselves dragon-watching, though a few looked displeased at the music. Some of them wore clothes, if only short pants or skirts. As he watched one such yelped and jumped as a grinning nude dragon behind them, brown-gold in color, snatched their shirt (a hole in the back for the wings) and ran out the doors with it, waving it like a banner. The New Whelp pounded after them. He watched and heard their howl as the gold dragon set the shirt on fire and swung it around their head outside. Goldie howled, “More fire!” Dragons cheered.

“Better watch that outfit if you want to keep it,” he told Cynthia.

“I will,” she said. She smirked and indicated several very interested onlooking male New Whelps. “They seem to be watching it, too.” Bram noticed and scowled at them. The dragons looked highly amused.

“When're they gonna play the King again?” One dragon grumbled to his partner, a fierce-looking gold and green dragoness, as they passed. “Wait until you hear that, Pyrite, that's some real music to dance to.”

“A king?” Pyrite's golden eyes gleamed with sudden greed. “I heard human kings have hoards, does he?”

“Yeah, one of blue suede shoes!”

Bram and Cynthia left the confused-looking dragoness behind and went deeper into the room. The other members of the crowd either danced or stuck to the sides, well away from the dragons. They were mostly humans. Some were both relations and friends of the New Whelps. The rest were the Lehigh University and Moravian College kids who'd crashed so they could brag about partying it up with dragons. Members of both groups were on the sidelines filming the show. He saw a few ponies at the sides of the room as well, almost certainly Conversion Bureau staff here to keep an eye on things.

Bram had to smile. This might be a sign of what was going to come for humanity, but everyone was happy tonight.

“You're glad you came.” Cynthia gave him a squeeze around the waist.

“I'm glad to be with you,” he said and lightly kissed her extended scaly hand.

Just in time for the big gray from outside to shove in between them.

“Hey, shiny scales,” he hissed, spreading his wings out to push Bram back, “I'm Tephra. Want to try one of these human dances? Or you want to find out how dragons dance?” He stepped up to her and swung his hips against hers. If dragon could leer, this one did. Cynthia gave a startled laugh.

Bram cleared his throat and stepped up beside Cynthia, making sure to catch Tephra's eye. The dragon showed fang. Bram forced himself to look unimpressed. He remembered what he'd read. Manners with Ponies and Changelings. Polite defiance with Dragons and Griffons.

“The lady has a date for the evening,” Bram said. He made himself not recoil when Tephra turned on him, head down and neck extended, wings arching out and a wicked light in his eyes. Wanna fight? Bram folded his arms across his chest nonchalantly. Inside he sweated in fear. “She promised me the first dance.”

“That's right,” Cynthia took him by the arm. “The first dance is yours.” She looked at the annoyed Tephra and gave him a fang-filled smile. “The next is yours.” With no further word she swept Bram out onto the dance floor.

Bram would rather have waited for something a little slower. He liked slow dancing, arm in arm with a lovely lady. Still, when in the Dragonlands. He moved and twisted as best he could, well aware that he was more enthusiastic than graceful. The dragons seemed as amused, or maybe just as contemptuous, of him as of any other human. Remembering the mock claw strikes, he tried some shadowboxing. They laughed out loud.

“Never mind them,” Cynthia slipped around behind and embraced him. Her wings folded around Bram, slightly muting the sounds and hiding most of the room. “One day you'll be as big as Volcano, just like I will.”

If I live to. If I want to.

Cynthia's claws wandered, almost politely, and he forgot about everything else but dancing. Too soon the song ended. The music changed to something more from her youth. Bram couldn't identify it, but it had a familiar 50's-style beat to it.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Cynthia said, stepping back and extending her claw to Tephra. “Now it's his turn.” Tephra smirked and all but shoved him aside.

Tephra spun before Cynthia, claws and fangs prominent, wings spread and flame licking at his jaws in full threat display. She began to copy it – hesitantly at first, then with greater enthusiasm. Tephra growled approval and with a leap, wings beating heavily, took to the air. Cynthia growled her eagerness and followed. With a wing-clap Tephra flew for the wide-open doors. Cynthia took off after him. The two other females flew after her. Bram heard them calling after the dancers, the words turning his ears red. Among the more printable was, “Don't sire a clutch on her until after the dance, Tephra!”

He hurried after them around the crowd, stepped outside and saw them both going high above the Steel Stacks, the dragonesses close behind like bridal maids or attendants. They flew about each other as gracefully as hawks. Cynthia's whooping laughter came back down to him. He suddenly felt heavy and earth-bound and very mortal. She's having the time of her life. She deserves it. Better than being locked down here with me, anyway.

He walked into a side room. A wide window in the front wall showed everything outside. Volcano sat on his self-appointed guard duty, his tail-tip swinging back and forth in time with the music. Bram wondered if he remembered or missed somedragon back home. Two ponies stood inside, one the Clinic guardspony from that morning. What was his name? Iron Wing, yes, that was it. The other was a unicorn speaking quietly with him.

“So we'll take care of that later,” the unicorn said. Magic sparked an electric blue along his horn. “Let's just hope the job doesn't get complicated.”

“Security work is never easy,” Iron Wing answered. The ponies nodded, manes tossing, and the unicorn left.

A table and a water dispenser were against the wall with the spigot set close to the floor for four-legged guests. A pitcher and some plastic cups were on the table as well as a gallon of milk in a basin filled with melting ice. No dragons were within. Good; right then he didn't want any superior-seeming or overly delighted fire lizards.

“Hello, Iron Wing.” Bram said. The pony nodded at him, a faint smile of sympathy on his face. Bram scowled but he nodded him back. Just because his night took a turn for the worse, no need to take it out on this pony .

He drank some milk, enjoying the relative silence.

“Looks like she forgot you, but dragons don't pay much attention to anybeing other than themselves.” Iron Wing snorted and drank from a small bucket set nearby on the floor. “Believe me, I know. You do patrols on the border nearest the Dragonlands for a decade, you get to know what dragons are like.” He looked up at Bram, eye to eye. Normally pony gazes seemed innocent and trusting. This one looked cold and wary.

“So,” Bram took another drink himself. “What are they really like?”

“Violent. Greedy. Very overproud – what is that human word?” The pegasus tossed his mane. “For one who is proud beyond normal pride?”

“Hubris?” At the pony's curious stare Bram explained. “It means excessive pride, arrogance, recklessness that defies even the gods.”

“Hubris. Yes. A good word.” Iron Wing nodded agreement. “The dragons are too proud, too reckless and violent. I do not think Celestia or Twilight told you humans this,” he pinned his ears and snorted, pure angry horse, “and I am certain that barbarian Ember did not, but right before the Veil happened she was ready to take the dragons to war against the Yaks. Do you know why?” Bram shook his head no. “It was because one of the Element Bearers, that silly one, Pinkie Pie was honored by them with the title of 'honorary Yak'. It had been done only once before, to a dragon.” He blew, stomped over to a nearby water dispenser, put his bucket under the spigot and set his hoof on the lever closest to the floor and filled it in a gurgling flood. He walked back to Bram. “Just an empty honorary title, but it was enough to make the dragons want to burn Yakyakistan to the ground.”

“I've heard the Yaks can get very aggressive,” Bram said, warily. He refilled his own cup and took another glance out the window. Cynthia wheeled maybe forty or fifty feet above, laughing. Tephra flew close, darted under her and pressed close. Their muzzles began to come together – He walked back to Iron Wing. He wished his words sounded less harsh. “Maybe they provoked them.”

“How?” Iron Wing snorted. “By honoring a pony as they once did a dragon? And even if they did anger the dragons, what right was there in meaning to kill hundreds of Yaks for it? I was instructed about your history before being stationed here, all of us were.” He pointed a heavy hoof at Bram. Scar tissue showed just beyond the fetlock, smooth and shiny like melted plastic left to set. Only a little pony hair remained on it. “Your kind did such things once, but you have grown wiser since.”

“Some of us. A little.” Bram looked out at the dance floor. They'd gone back to more modern music. It was a techno version of 'Puff the Magic Dragon'. Some of the New Whelps gave the harsh barks that passed for dragon laughter and began swaying and singing along. The humans joined them. The Trueborns just looked confused. It looked like a kid's cartoon. He went back to the table. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I think Equestria made a mistake.” The pegasus slumped and looked tired. “We should not have invited all the races of Equestria to join in the Conversion Bureaus. The Dragons, the Diamond Dogs, and the Griffons are all peoples we've had problems with of late. Be it raiding, or slave taking, or smuggling. We should at least have told them they'd be rejected from any Conversion plans until they stopped their troublemaking.” He whipped his tail against his flanks, against the tabard he wore bearing the double sun and moon insignia. “But the Princesses listened to Princess Twilight, and to the promises the dragon Ember made. They offered her two percent of your race, with maybe more depending on how many gem-growing Earth ponies are converted. I know something of your population,” Iron Wing scowled as he worked over the numbers. “Roughly eight billion. So that means...”

“One hundred sixty million New Whelp dragons,” Bram said easily. He'd gone over the numbers with Cynthia and even Volcano once or twice.

The sound of a scuffle came from the party. He and Iron Wing both went to see. One dancing college kid local hip-blocked a nearby dragon that looked like a barrel with arms and legs. The dragon's return mosh sent them rolling away head over heels. The human got up and limped away, dazed. The dragon didn't even seem to have noticed. His fellows did and jeered laughter.

“Volcano told us Ember wasn't 'given' anyone, she was told she could accept that many New Whelps." Bram nodded at the crowd. "But that's a lot of dragons.”

Iron Wing shuddered, ears flicking back in short sharp fear. “Human, that's almost as many ponies as live in Equestria. The current dragon population is anypony's guess, but the biggest estimates put it at four million.” He rose and flew in front of Bram, locking him eye to eye. “What do you think your homeland, or your world, is going to do when nearly two hundred million adult dragons start looking for all the territory and gemstones and meat they need to survive, both them and whatever spawn they have?”

Bram had thought about it before, a little. He'd taken it for granted that he'd be long dead by then along with whoever else among humanity decided against conversion. He had a mental flash of a scene from a movie he'd seen once years ago when dragons were still comfortably fictional, where dragons returned and swarmed across the globe killing everyone. A second and worse image, of some village of ponies or yaks or whatever with everyone screaming and galloping away from two dragons. One a huge gray male and beside him his mate, sleek in ebon and gold, with flame washing down from laughing jaws.

Cynthia wouldn't do that. The woman my mother knew and I know wouldn't.

But is Cynthia still that woman? He looked outside. New Whelps and Trueborns danced together, all but indistinguishable. Are any of them still the people they once were?

“They've set aside land for them when they get big,” Bram wished he felt as sure as he sounded. “The UN and world governments discussed it with Ember and the Princesses. In Kamchatka, in the Sierras and Rockies, the Alps and Kunlun Mountains. Some dragons are already there to search out good spots for the lairs.”

“And maybe they mean that, for now,” Iron Wing said. “But if they break their word when the time comes, what will you do?”

He indicated the dance floor. One dragon spewed flame into the barbecue pit. The cooks scattered with yells. Others cheered and joined in, breathing fire into the already white-hot coals. Bram decided the sprinklers must have been turned off, else they'd all be getting drenched. One of the pony Bureau staff hurried over and protested, their words inaudible over the music. The dragons laughed; some snarled. The frightened pony backed away, ears pinned and eyes rolling, until they backed into Volcano as he came inside, squeezing his way through the wide double doors. The bigger dragon just snarled at the offenders and pointed to the door. They left with surly grace. He sat there watching the party and looking surly.

“Even if the worst were true,” Bram said, wondering where Cynthia was and what was taking her so long? Don't give her your clutch until after the dance, Tephra... Oh for pity's sake, trust her! He repeated, “If it were true, then what? The potions have been made back in Equestria, right? It's convert or die. Do you think the dragons would be willing to give up what they've been promised?”

“There are ways,” Iron Wing said softly. Bram leaned close to hear his words. The pegasus looked as though he was speaking words he'd long turned over in his mind. “I speak in hypotheticals, you understand. What if dragon potions were lost or damaged, say, made pony ones instead? Not all of them, no, but enough broken for now than when the final panic comes – and we both know it will, human, your people can be as foolish as mine – the pony potions are all that's left? No hordes of dragons, everypony else can sleep without worrying about being burned in their beds...”

Cynthia flew into the building and dropped to the floor with a laugh. Tephra and his two friends came in behind her. Iron Wing fell silent and walked away as though he'd been saying nothing at all. She walked to Bram, her eyes aglow with joy. Her costume looked disheveled.

“What are you two conspiring about?” Cynthia asked, smiling and panting slightly. Tephra and his friends stood behind her, looking quite pleased. Bram scowled. Tephra looked a little too satisfied for his liking. Tephra noticed his look and tilted his head back, looking smug. Bram felt his scowl deepen.

Watch it, you lecherous lizard. Remember who my family is named after. Siegfried slew Fafnir.

Of course, he was the son of a god and had a magic sword rather than the son of a steelworker with a broken down car.

“Bram?”

“Sorry,” he gave Cynthia a quick squeeze. She looked surprised. Tephra just gave an amused snort. “I was wondering, would you like to step away from the dance for a bit? It's crowded in here, and,” he glanced at a nearby poster advertising some of the other attractions at the Steel Stacks, “look, they'll be showing some of those movies you enjoy at the theater. Maybe you'd like to go take one in, and then come back? You know, just us?” He spoke to her but aimed the last words at Tephra and his lady friends.

Cynthia looked uncertain until she turned to see the listed movies. “Oh, like those Jabootu guys? The ones who do the cheesy old SF films? I love those movies.” Her lips split in a fanged grin.

“They give you cheese with the movie?” One of Tephra's two dragonesses, the pink-scaled one with the long horns and longer tail tilted her head to one side. She frowned. “I tried bringing my own food to one of those things and they told me I had to eat it outside. I didn't even get to see the moving-pictures.” The last words sounded off. The translation spells used by ponies to grant dragons the use of human language must have stumbled over the actual dragon words used.

“No, dear,” Cynthia quickly said. She smiled and rubbed her scaly chin. “They mean movies that aren't very good, but they still entertain you. Just, er, not the way they were meant to.” Tephra and the two dragonesses looked at them blankly. Cynthia shook her head and motioned towards the door. “You know, it would be easier to just show you. Bram, you can pay for them, can't you?”

“What? I mean, yes,” Bram followed her. The three dragons followed, looking curious and eager. As they passed outside, the pounding music growing faint behind and the deepening darkness laying over them, he said, “Cynthia, it's over on the other side of the complex. Maybe we can cut through by there?” He pointed at the old abandoned blast furnaces. They looked like half-ruined towers in the dark.

Cynthia looked uneasy. Bram guessed what she was thinking. Before the Veil there'd been robberies here; come to think of it there still were. Though now most robbers were careful about potential victims powerful enough to beat them to a pulp. Still, a bullet or even knife in the eye? Bram didn't want to see Cynthia or even those three annoying reptiles get hurt.

Tephra settled it for him “We'll go and see these cheese-whatever movies, Cynthia.” He moved to stand beside her, his tail reaching up to lightly slap against her flank. As she blushed, he gave Bram a ponderous wink and expelled some smoke and fire from his muzzle. “And don't worry about your still-human friend, Lancer and Beryl will help us keep him safe from any troublemakers.” It was obvious the 'us' referred to Cynthia along with the Trueborns. Tephra craned his neck and looked at the dragonesses. ”Isn't that right?” He nodded at the pink and then the yellow dragoness.

Lancer grinned at Bram as she slithered between Cynthia and him. Her muzzle was especially pointy and snipy making the origin of her name an easy guess. The horns set atop and beneath her muzzle pointing sharply backwards like harpoon barbs didn't hurt. Beryl was a glittering yellow with a high crest flopping over to one side like a Veronica Lake hairdo. Her smile crawled along just one side of her muzzle.

“Come on, human,” Beryl took him by one arm, tugging him away from Tephra and Cynthia. They took the lead, abandoning him to their mercies. Beryl spoke again, her voice husky and with only a touch of the usual draconic rasp. “We'll keep you safe from everything else. Right, Lancer?”

“Safe enough,” she hissed, batting her eyes at him. Bram colored and tried to look directly ahead. His cheeks flamed as their laughter filled the air, echoing from the old abandoned furnaces. Wanting to think of something else, he looked around, wondering what they must have been like back when the place was operating full blast.

“Say, Cynthia,” he called out. She looked back at him, curious. Tephra's glance flashed with annoyance. Bram smiled. “Your husband worked at the Steel, right? Did he ever say how many ships they made here in World War 2?”

“Your grandfather worked here too, and your father,” Cynthia called back to him. “Your mother told me as much. Didn't they tell you?”

“But not in the war; he joined afterwards.” He thought some more, remembered a few other things he shared with her. “He told me about guys like I-You.”

“Wasn't he the one who lived up in the Poconos with the rattlesnakes?” Cynthia frowned, her crest lowering and the tip of her tail flicking back and forth as she thought. “No, wait, that was Crazy Zeke. I-You was the one foreman the ladelers threatened to toss into the hot steel when he ratted on them.”

“Ladelers?”

“The men who poured the molten steel,” Cynthia lightly tapped Tephra's muzzle. “Like you said you do back home when you make your armor.”

“Hmm, tossed into hot steel?” Tephra and the dragonesses perked their ear membranes up. They looked very interested now. “I thought humans couldn't live through diving into anything actually warm.”

Bram almost laughed but Cynthia beat him to it. Her laughter sounded as raucous as any other dragon's, splashing against the walls around them and spilling out into the lot before them, with the movie theater at the end of it.

“'Warm', Tephra?” Cynthia shook her head. She flapped her wings out like leathery sails. “Lava weighs in at 2100 Fahrenheit. Molten steel is even hotter. I think even a dragon would have a hard time with molten steel.”

By then they'd reached the theater. The building itself looked like any modern small movie house, lacking what Bram considered the neon-laced character of the Roxy back in Siegfried Station. The crowd outside looked normal. Well, normal for the post-Veil and Conversion Bureau Earth. Mostly humans, skewing a bit older here, though with the expected number of local college students. Ponies were scattered among the crowd, mainly the typical Earth ponies-Unicorns-Pegasi save for three Thestrals chatting away excitedly about the vampire movie that apparently just ended. Well, two of them were talking. The third paid attention to his nosebag filled with popcorn. A pair of griffons chattered excitedly. A feline Abyssinian, tall and graceful with a calico coat, walking out arm in arm with one of the college students completed the picture. No dragons despite the New Whelp party, with the music still faintly audible even from here. Looking back Bram saw some bat-winged figures stooping and wheeling above the main building. Fire flared out from one, painfully bright against the deepening darkness.

Cynthia's cried out in delight.

“Hah, a double feature!” She pointed at the poster done in what looked like 50's style. Two panels advertised tonight's offering, The Magic Sword and The Cyclops. “Oh, my husband loved Bert Gordon. His films were ridiculous!” Tephra looked uncertain, smoke spilling from his nostrils and tail coiling. Cynthia grabbed him by the shoulders and nearly squeed. “Tephra, you and the girls will love these! They're hilarious! Aren't they, Bram?”

Smiling widely, she looked to him for confirmation. Some nearby moviegoers blanched at the sight of those fangs and suddenly found business elsewhere. Tephra gave her a cautious look that clearly wondered what this dragoness – this woman, was leading him into.

Bram glanced to either side. Lancer and Beryl looked at him a little more eagerly now.

“So, uh, how many movies have you two seen since coming to Earth?”

“None at all!” Lancer bounced up and down on her tail. “Tephra's been here for months and he's seen some. He told us about them and when Dragon Lord Ember asked if we wanted to come help Volcano we said yes. We have to see these!”

“Oh, you'll never forget what you see here.” Bram winced as they clapped their claws in joy. He hoped this didn't end badly for them.

Before them Cynthia and walked in arm in arm. Lancer and Beryl looked envious. They looked at him and their eyes lit up.

“Now, ladies,” Bram felt himself break out in a cold sweat at their looks. “No need for --”

With pleased growls a pair of scaly arms shot around Bram from either side like hungry pythons. They squeezed so hard he wondered if they were trying to meet in the middle.

“We want to keep an eye on you,” Lancer growl-purred at him, setting that long muzzle on his shoulder as she said, “Just like Tephra will with our new sister.”

“He'll take good care of her, human,” Beryl lowered her muzzle and smirked slyly. She ran one clawtip over his arm. He began wondering what he had done to deserve this. “Just like he asked us to keep an eye on you.”

Bram gulped and entered with them after getting tickets all around. The ticket seller gave him a dirty look and muttered something about 'scaly screwer'. Thankfully they missed it. Or maybe not; at his blush they rubbed closer against him.

“Wow, look at all the room!” Lancer hissed in delight as they entered. “Hey, can we hover and watch the movie that way?”

“No! Ladies,” He quickly said as they turned furious glares on him, “that's impolite here.”

“And?” They looked at him blankly.

Bram thought fast.

“The theater would throw you out and you'd never know how the show ended,” Bram said. "Like what happened with you before, Lancer. Remember?" Fangtips showed at their lips, but they folded their wings in. He guided them to some seats that gave him a view of Cynthia and Tephra. He could see Tephra lashing his tail in annoyance several rows away as Cynthia explained that he needed to take a seat. An usher stood nearby, looking nervous at the prospect of having to ask the six foot tall plus fire-breather to step out of the aisle. Cynthia finally got Tephra to sit beside her. He did so with ill temper. That did bring a smile to Bram's face.

“Huh, why are you angry – no, wait, humans show fang when they're happy, right?” Lancer's gaze followed his. The smile slipped from Bram's face as Cynthia snugged Tephra close. She looked to be giving him lessons in human courtship Bram didn't think the lizard needed. “What, and humans do that too?” She looked over at Beryl, who just snorted.

“You know what Ember and Volcano said, Lancer. 'Be polite'.” Bram choked as a pair of scaly arms shot around him from either side again. It felt like being wrapped up by two constrictors with internal heaters. Maybe some of his discomfort got through; their bone-crushing grip loosened slightly. Beryl leaned in close and growled softly. “Now, human, you can pay attention to us, and not our new sister and Tephra.”

“I doubt I could stop paying attention to you two,” Bram scraped the words out. The ladies lifted their muzzles and grinned without displaying any fangs. No wonder, he thought, all those pamphlets said that Equestrian dragons mostly associated with each other. No one else could survive the experience.

Fighting for Dragons

Bram's wishes for a nice quiet movie evaporated as soon as the film began. Questions began flying thick and fast from Lancer and Beryl, to the mounting annoyance of the rest of the audience.

“Why is the storm only making them wet and not us?”

“Why don't those monsters come out and attack everyone here? These humans look slow and fat enough that they can catch some.”

"Lancer!" Bram cringed as loud hisses to be silent came from the human moviegoers. She just looked at him innocently. "It's not real. It's just an illusion." Inspiration struck. "Like some ponies can do?"

"P-Pony magic?" Lancer gulped. Bram missed it and nodded. She turned back to watching the film. Peace was restored.

For roughly five minutes.

“Ugggh, do all humans grow as big as that and get a great big eye like Arimaspi? Hey, you won't, will you?" Lancer tapped Bram on the nose. "I mean you're kinda ugly now like all humans but you don't need to get worse.”

“Why is everyone in this movie so stupid?” Beryl stood and waved one claw at the screen before turning to the audience, "Hey, how did your species even survive if you're all as dumb as this?"

“Why don't you two dumb broads over there shut up?” Bram barely saw the yeller, a large shadow in the dim light. The audience began to murmur in support. “I came here to see the movie, not listen to you!”

Bram hoped Lancer and Beryl would take the hint. Instead Lancer shot out of her seat, propping herself up on her tail for extra height.

“Hey! You can see the movie as much as you like! Just watch it instead of us and our human!” Lancer slithered out into the aisle, her scutes rasping over the carpeting. Nearby members of the audience began hurriedly clearing their seats. They suddenly realized who or what they'd yelled at. “If you don't like it when we ask why something happens, don't listen! And what's a dumb broad anyway?”

Bram's prayer that the loudmouth would realize he was outclassed and shut up was in vain.

“You're a dumb broad, you scaly freak!" Loudmouth raised an extended middle finger in Lancer's direction. "Go back to Magic Horse Land and eat ponies or whatever it is you do!”

“Lancer! Miss!” Bram took the pink dragoness by one foreleg. “People usually watch movies in silence...”

He recoiled as she spun on him, eyes aglow and fangs gleaming in the dim light.

“Tell him that!” Lancer thrust her spear-like muzzle at her antagonist. “He called me bad names! At least, I think they're bad.”

“They are!” Idiot Loudmouth called again. Bram heard the man's friends urging him to sit down and shut his fool mouth before an angry dragon removed it for him. “The hell with you, that other snake-skin skank, and the scaly screwer with you!”

“Huh? What did you call me?” Beryl rose up snarling, smoke rising freely from her nostrils. She began cursing back at him, flying into the air above the audience to make her insults clear. As she spoke her translation spell seemed to start breaking own. Maybe whatever pony made it didn't think to cover the more inventive draconic invective. “Up your flank, you furless ape! Your sire was one of five different hoardless males!” Lancer cheered her on. Some of the audience joined in.

“You tell him, lady!”

“Shut that human bigot up, sister!”

“Ladies!” Bram looked from one snarling dragon to the other. In their seats he saw Tephra smirking and Cynthia just shaking her head. “The movie!”

“Shut up, punk!” Someone slurred drunkenly. “This is a better show!”

“Everyone, BE QUIET!” The speaker stood up. To his shock given the volume of the roar its owner proved to be human, though with a build that could politely be described as 'shaved bear'. “Most of us want to see the movie! So SIT DOWN and SHUT! UP!” He glared around. To Bram's shock, even Lancer and Beryl returned to their seats beside him. They were looking at the man who'd yelled with something like awe. The loudmouth shrank back into his chair.

He nearly relaxed until Lancer stuck her long neck and muzzle across his lap to Beryl.

“Did you hear how loud that human is, Beryl?” Lancer stage-hissed, badly. “Not like this one at all.” She thrust her thumb-claw at Bram.

“Now he ought to be a dragon,” Beryl looked dreamy, clasping her claws together and looking skywards. “What an alpha! When he spoke, everyone shut up! Now why can't you be like that?” Beryl sniffed at him. “Really, you act like a pony or something. You'll never be a dragon at this rate...”

The last thin thread of Bram's temper snapped.

“Both of you, QUIET!” At the renewed chorus of curses to be silent and let us watch the damned movie already, he snatched both of them by the muzzle and pulled their heads closer to his. In sheer desperation, he whispered, “Behave yourselves, sit quietly, or I'll, I'll...” He saw a fire extinguisher nearby and felt sudden inspiration. “I'll take that and put your fires out!”

At those words they froze.

“You couldn't,” Beryl gulped.

“You wouldn't,” Lancer whimpered. “Humans can, can do that?”

He smiled as cruelly as he could and made a snuffing motion with thumb and forefinger. “Like it was a candle.”

Beryl and Lancer scrunched themselves down into their chairs. He caught fearful glances by both of them as they brought their wings forward to half-hide their faces. He looked meaningfully sidelong at the extinguisher and felt a stab of remorse at their mutual shudder.

He sank back and sighed in relief. Maybe now there would be some quiet.

There was, but it only lasted as long as the end of the movie. Beryl and Lancer were recovered enough by then to cheer lustily along with the other audience members when the Cyclops took a spear directly in his eye and plunged to his death. Lancer seemed especially delighted when a pony watching the movie gagged and ran for the door, looking as green as their mane.

“Ha-ha!” She pointed her impressively barbed tail after the pony. “Puny ponies can't take a little blood!” She wheeled on Bram and grabbed his coat, tugging at it. “Hey, human! Do all movies end like that?”

“Tiamat, but I hope so!” Beryl said beside him. “I mean, normally I'd hate seeing something strong get defeated by weaklings, but right in the eye?” She clapped her hands, claws clacking together. They both grinned, all shining fangs. People in the nearby seats suddenly seemed to find a need to relocate. They left in a hurry.

“Not always,” Bram said. “In a lot of human movies no one dies at all.” Beryl and Lancer looked horribly disappointed. He quickly said, “But don't worry, lots of people die in this next one. It even has a dragon in it.” The ladies perked up at that.

The Magic Sword began to play across the screen. They cheered and whooped along with the audience. The two stiffened a bit at the sight of the magic in use. Bram remembered Volcano's few unguarded words on unicorn magic. They'd mostly been snarls about 'foul' and 'unnatural, but we're at peace now'. Dragons didn't seem to like anything that put 'lesser species' on an equal playing field.

Beryl and Lancer seemed to forget their qualms as the knights were brought on and horribly killed one after the other. They laughed in joy at the sight. Bram had to smile at it. Well, they're no more bloodthirsty than most human kids. Even Tephra was delighted, watching the movie instead of Cynthia, letting out cheers of approval as the knights met one brutal end after another.

Bram wondered how they'd take the end. He remembered what Beryl said, and what the pamphlets about draconic life and psychology had said, about their love of strength and cruel cunning. They were predators after all. But Beryl and Lancer seemed delighted until the moment when Basil Rathbone's evil wizard Lodac controlled his dragon to attack.

“I bet that seems pretty awful to you, right?” Bram whispered and turned to Lancer. “I mean, you've seen the real thing...” His voice trailed off. Lancer had her tail between her claws and was wringing it so badly it just looked painful. She shrank back in her seat, shivering. Beside him Beryl hissed so pitifully even he could tell she felt terror.

“Ladies?” He looked at them in confusion. What were they afraid of? This silly movie? He risked a glance over at Cynthia. She was leaning over against Tephra and – was she comforting him, like a child? He caught a few whispered words. “Tephra, it's okay. Nothing can hurt you here. You're a dragon, remember. Nothing can hurt a dragon.”

“Magic can,” that fearful hiss came to him from Lancer. Beryl chimed in. “Magic can kill dragons. Magic can control dragons and make them do what ponies want.” Her voice deepened, became a growl. Bram felt a sudden spike in the heat radiating from both their bodies. The last time he'd felt that from a dragon was when Cynthia was learning how to control her flames, right before she breathed flame. Lots of flame. All over his best carpet. Beryl snarled, the words barely understandable, “Pony magic is evil.”

“Beryl, listen,” he whispered desperately. “Remember. What you're seeing isn't real. No dragon is being hurt or controlled. You won't be hurt. Or you either Lancer,” he said to the pink dragoness. Little licks of flame were coming from her nostrils, a very bad sign. Their toe claws scratched at the floor, ripping the carpeting. Bram swallowed. “I won't let either of you be hurt, okay? And neither will Cynthia.” They fearfully looked over at her when he pointed. Tephra was sitting back up, Cynthia talking to him, low and reassuring. He thought of more to say. “You're dragons. Be strong in front of the New Whelp. Be strong in front of,” he saw wide-eyed ponies watching them, “in front of the ponies.”

That last got them. They brought their heads back up, necks extended, and watched the climax of the film. They shivered, but relaxed as soon as Lodac was slain. Moments later they cheered along with everyone else as the movie ended. As the lights rose they got up and waited for Cynthia and Tephra. The latter looked a little shaky, but not as badly as the ladies. Bram opened his mouth to ask what was wrong. Cynthia gave him a warning look and nodded her horned head at the exit. He took the hint and followed her out.

He noticed that as soon as they left Tephra and the two dragonesses began to swagger. They looked around, defiant, their horned crests rising aggressively and wings partly unfolded. They were trying to make themselves look bigger, Bram realized. Did the idea of magic being used to control dragons scare them that much?

“So!” Bram forced cheer into his voice. “What next, then? Back to the party?”

Bram pointed at the building, over on the other side of the lot. The night was much darker now; clouds had rolled in and seemed to be hanging low, cutting out the sight of the moon and stars. Lights hung above the cement pathway leading to it, their bulbs straining and weak. A little music still came from the New Whelp party, but no more winged forms wheeled and soared above it. He wondered if they were all inside drinking and hoped not. An army of two or three hundred drunken dragons might be a bit much even for the old Steel. The much shorter path lead off through the abandoned blast furnaces. In this darkness it looked about as inviting as a trip through a murderer's house.

“That sounds best to me,” Cynthia stretched and tugged at Tephra's claw in the direction of the long way around.

“We can use this way,” Bram stepped towards the well-lit path. “It looks safer --”

Claws dug into his shoulder and jerked him back. Tephra held him. Beryl and Lancer stood back by Cynthia, flanking her.

“No, we're going back that way,” his tail lashed towards the furnaces. The literal heat in his voice gave little room for argument. “It's shorter. Even if there's no light, we can see.” Tephra started forward. Rough, forced amusement filled his voice. Bram's resentment at this swaggering reptile hit the boiling point as Tephra thrust his chest out. “We'll all protect you, human. There's nothing in there for dragons to be afraid of.”

“Unless there's a pony wizard in there.” Bram choked as Tephra and the ladies spun on him. His sole thought was, Oh, you idiot.

It looked like Tephra agreed with him. His eyes were glowing, lit by the fires of his anger. Smoke began trickling anew from Tephra's nostrils, thick and dark. Well, Bram thought as Tephra snarled his way over to him, at least there's no fire in it. He still has his emotional self-control.

I think.

“Human,” Bram forced himself not to flinch as Tephra stuck his muzzle right in his face, crimson tongue flickering and diamond-crushing fangs bared, “dragons respect – what is is you humans call it? Guts, yes.” Tephra flexed his claws and growled, “Just don't push it too much.” His claw lowered and gave Bram's stomach a painful squeeze before the dragon stepped back.

“Understood,” Bram said. Cynthia's claw settled on his shoulder.

Tephra looked from his face to her claw and snorted out more smoke. “Let's get back. We're supposed to be watching you, after all. New Whelp.”

Tephra set off, almost stomping, the muscles working under his gray scales. Beryl and Lancer moved to either side of him and Cynthia.

“It's okay,” Cynthia said, looking at them both. “Bram will be fine with me.” She nodded at them. “Thank you, sisters.” The sleek dragonesses hurried after Tephra. Bram and Cynthia hurried to keep them in sight as they followed through the darkened Steel. Without the music it felt so quiet he could hear the light scraping of dragon claws on the old concrete walkway underfoot.

“Okay,” Bram whispered to Cynthia. “What was that all about?”

“What?” She looked at him, confusion in her golden eyes. “You don't know? Tephra told me. It's the same reason why so many of the Trueborn dragons are here. They were protecting you and the rest of us,” she shook her head, “sorry, I mean the New Whelps and humans present tonight.”

“Protecting us from what?” Bram looked around. Her words and all the shadows around were suddenly very unsettling. He began to remember those stories about robberies focusing on humans associating with dragons. “The HLF? The PER?”

“Something like that, I guess.” Cynthia's tail swept back and forth, the multi-spiked tip looking dangerous. “Volcano got a message from Ember to be careful because humans planning to become New Whelps were being attacked. That and all the robberies and vandalism of dragon potions for the Conversion Bureaus.”

“Really?” Bram frowned. He wondered if he'd heard stealthy footsteps behind him. “I thought that was a local thing.”

“No, according to what Volcano said it's been happening everywhere you have people becoming dragons.” Cynthia held one scaly arm in the electric light from overhead. Her scales glittered and shone like a river. “I'm glad I got the potion when I did. Things get slowed much more and with the speed of the Veil, Equestria may have to just start producing pony potions. Volcano says those are easier to make than dragon or griffon or any predator potions.” She frowned. “Well, he says that's what he's been told. I think he's suspicious if it's true. Something wrong?”

“No,” Bram said, but he wondered. He remembered Iron Wing's words, his hinting that many ponies wouldn't be happy to see millions of dragons growing into adulthood.

He stopped and looked back, frowning. More noise like footsteps. Cynthia looked at him in confusion. He shook his head and resumed walking. He needed to control his paranoia.

“So, what about you and Tephra?” Bram asked. “He looked and acted mighty interested back there.”

“Him?” Cynthia smiled and preened. “He's a pleasant young fellow by dragon standards. In the mood for a mate, I think, or maybe just a girlfriend, but I told him I'm not interested. Yet, anyway.” She gave Bram a meaningful look. “Also right now he's worried. He knows about the problems Volcano and Ember have to deal with and wants to help. And Volcano told him to keep an eye on you and me. He's Volcano's younger brother.”

“His clutchmate?”

Cynthia shook her head at him.

“No, that's when dragons are born from the same set of eggs. Volcano is seventy or eighty years older than Tephra. Anyway,” Cynthia motioned with her muzzle towards Tephra and the ladies. They walked together about twenty feet ahead and looked to be talking quietly. Bram felt surprise to realize that dragons had a setting lower than 'foghorn'. “Tephra was glad that you got Beryl and Lancer to calm down for the movie. He likes to pretend he's a jaded sophisticate, at least by dragon standards,” she laughed softly, “but he's apparently quite fond of human movies. But that bit about wizards rattled him.”

“I guessed as much. I suppose I'd better apologize...”

“No!” The word echoed from the furnaces, bounced against the back wall of the party building before them. Tephra and the ladies looked back quickly, heads craning on their long necks. Cynthia waved to them and gave Bram a squeeze only a little less rib-crushing than the ones he'd been getting earlier. As he winced she whispered, “That would make it worse. Remember those pamphlets, the parts about dragon psychology? Dragons won't admit to feeling fear or to looking weak in front of other dragons. Apologizing to Tephra, forgiving him, would be your way of saying you managed to frighten him,” she shook herself, from her crest down to her long tail, “and then you'd really insult him. In front of other dragons, no less. Volcano explained some of it to us. He'd have to avenge the insult – bully you into backing down before other dragons, and hurt you if you wouldn't. I doubt he'd like it but his pride wouldn't let him take any other option.”

Ahead of them the dragons walked back into the party. Volcano was nowhere to be seen. Probably still inside.

Beyond the glass doors Bram saw a small crowd of dragons around the barbecue 'pit'. Tephra stood beside the ladies, and all three seemed to be bragging to other dragons about the movie. Some of the dragons listened, spellbound. Others made hungry sidelong glances at the roasting meat. The few ponies present were staying far away from it. Everything was restored to peace and quiet.

He held the door to let Cynthia inside.

Feet pounded the concrete behind him.

“Armageddon! Death to the invading beasts and species traitors!”

“Cynthia, run!” Bram tried to do two things at once: push Cynthia inside to safety while slamming the door shut behind him.

She yelped in surprise and froze.

Tephra and the other dragons stared in shock. Panic thickened his voice. “HLF! Grab her and run!”

Tephra almost teleported to his side. Gray scaly arms wrapped around Cynthia and yanked her inside. With her gone Bram fell against the door. He hurried to yank it shut – but not before a backpack full of something sailed past him and into the middle of the barbecue fire.

Oh, Lord, please Lord no, don't let that be what it is.

Even as the door slammed shut he heard the explosions begin.

He turned just in time for the runner to collide with him. Bram caught glimpses: a balaclava-covered face that looked oddly familiar, a jacket with a crude image of a human fist over the Earth. Two others were behind him, masked, the same jackets, both of them raising something that glistened like metal in the light spilling from inside. Panic clawed at his mind.

I'm gonna die Cynthia and Volcano and everyone is gonna die but I gotta keep them out so someone can get away.

“Dammit!” Balaclava tried to shove him out of the way. His two friends with whatever they held danced around behind him, trying to line up targets. “We can't get the shot with you in the way! Move, dumbass!”

Bram didn't even think. He just swung his head forward. It collided with an exceptionally hard skull. Balaclava howled, grabbed and dragged him back from the door. The other two ran past and pointed whatever they held inside. Balaclava yelled as Bram desperately grappled with him.

More explosions inside, oddly high pitched, a rapid series of sharp pop-pop-pops rather than the loud flat bang he expected. They were joined by panicked whinnies, human cries of fear, and angry bellowing roars.

“Get the shot!” Balaclava yanked Bram's arm up behind his back in a hammerlock. Bram fought uselessly to get free as he yelled, “Come on, guys, we put a lot of work into this!”

“Hah!” One of the other two hopped around, something raised to his eye and pointed through the glass. A camera? “This is great! I think those lizards are crapping themselves!”

“You guys will be crap when the cops get you!” Bram tried to wrench free. His arm got jammed even higher. Between the pain from that and his still ringing head he fought not to vomit. The explosions inside seemed to be dying off, but the screams and yells were as loud as ever. Bram hated just how good his imagination was as his mind conjured images of the carnage inside. Where were the cops and guards?

“Murderers!”

“What?” Balaclava and his pals laughed. The two by the door stepped back, backslapping each other as they doubled up. “We didn't kill anyone, dumbass...”

“No, but WE WILL!”

The glass and steel of the door and surrounding wall crashed outwards. Volcano surged out with a roar on all fours. Bram caught sight of Tephra behind him, Beryl and Lancer and other Trueborn and New Whelps, what looked like a score or more. The sound of draconic rage filled the air as they headed straight for Balaclava and his pals, eyes blazing and fire-streaked smoke a halo around their heads.

The two with the cameras showed fine instincts for survival. They turned and ran like rabbits from the angry mob of dragons. Not that it did any good. Half a dozen sets of wings opened as their owners leaped into the air. The cameramen stopped just in time to prevent furious dragons from landing on their heads as they dropped to earth before them. They stumbled backwards in panic. The dragons snapped at them and sent blasts of fire over their heads. The panicked pair didn't even notice where they were going until they backed into snarling, scaled forms who grabbed them by the necks. At that point they both wisely froze and didn't move a muscle.

Bram wished his captor had as much sense. Instead he kept the hammerlock on him as he backed away into the parking lot. With his free hand he began reaching into a pocket.

Balaclava's teeth chattered as Volcano, still on all fours, eyes locked on his face, spoke coldly.

“Human,” Volcano said in an anger-thickened voice, “I know your smell. You are the young fools who tried to force your way inside earlier. I sent you away.” He stomped closer, his claws ripping at the tarmac underfoot, tearing out chunks. Tephra stayed close as did Beryl and Lancer, coming on at Bram and Balaclava, all fire and fangs and claws. “You come back dressed as enemies, threw those firecrackers into our fire, pretended to seek our lives and the lives of those under our care.”

Bram felt his eyes tearing up at the hot sulfur blasting into his face. The reek of it sickened him. He tried to get Volcano's attention about whatever Balaclava was pulling out from his jacket. The dragon ignored him completely.

Volcano spread his wings wide and hissed, “You will regret what you have done, but not for very long.”

He rose on his hind legs, mouth opened to breathe – and Balaclava yanked a canister of bear mace out of his jacket pocket and sent a solid stream of it right into Volcano's eyes.

Volcano dropped with a howl, clawing at his face.

Tephra looked at his big brother and shrieked. It turned into a roar when he swung his gaze back to Balaclava. Balaclava aimed the canister at him.

Bram threw himself back. Balaclava fell backwards with a curse, Bram on top of him. He bit down on a yell at the fire in his twisted arm. The canister rolled away across the lot. Bram and Balaclava both went after it.

Only to freeze when a clawed foot kicked it away, followed by a blast of fire that incinerated it.

Bram and Balaclava both looked up. Tephra glared at them, his eyes almost literally ablaze.

“Human,” he hissed. “You made a joke of threatening our lives. You blinded my brother.”

His tail lashed in Volcano's direction. The injured dragon swung his head back and forth, clawing at his face. The other dragons stayed clear of him. In his agonized state Volcano might do anything. Tephra bent down. The anger Bram saw before in Volcano's eyes looked like mild dislike beside the killing fury he saw now.

“Can you give me a reason to not kill you?”

“Tephra,” Bram started. He didn't flinch, somehow, when Tephra snapped at him, the fangs closing just short of his face. Somehow he found the courage he needed. “Tephra, Volcano isn't blind, yet, but if he keeps worrying at his eyes he will be. I know how to help him, but you have to let me get up and go inside.” Tephra looked slightly less angry. Bram added, “The things I need to help him are inside.”

“Why should I trust --” Tephra began, but stopped at Volcano's voice from behind.

“Tephra, little brother, let him go.” Volcano swung his head in the other dragon's direction. Pain and fury thrummed through his voice but he had regained his usual control. “I know his voice. Bram would not be a part of something this shameful...”

At least someone trusts me, Bram thought.

“He knows I would rip him asunder, and fears too much for that.”

Maybe not.

Volcano made a come-here gesture. Bram went to him. Tephra followed close behind. Behind him another dragon kept Balaclava pinned with a clawed foot on their chest.

“Human, you say you can help me. Do so.” He raised his head in the direction of the three pranksters. Bram could hear their teeth chattering from here. “We will deal with these --” The translation spell apparently couldn't handle the next few words. They sounded like a bass hiss followed by a short grunting roar. Bram doubted it was complimentary.

“I'll go, but one condition,” Bram did flinch then as Volcano snapped in anger, fangs coming together like thresher blades just short of him. “You don't hurt those three as long as they don't do anything.”

Tephra snarled. “They hurt my – our people, they terrified yours who wished to support the New Whelps, why should I let them walk away whole?” As he spoke the dragons holding the three shook them like sheets hung in a high wind. The trio whimpered in panic. “In the Dragonlands they'd be beaten to a pulp for this.”

Bram took a deep breath, stepped right into Tephra's face, and yelled so loudly the dragon reared back.

“Because this ISN'T the Dragonlands! It's Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, the USA, and here you can't kill or maim people over pranks,” he thought, no matter how much you might wish otherwise, “and if you do, you get exiled!” He wondered if the dragons really would be punished for this. He doubted Ember would be heartbroken over the fate of dragon-mocking fools. “You're here to look good before us and Equestria. Hurting those clowns, no matter how much they deserve it, won't help! Now please let me go and get what I need to help your brother.”

Tephra looked ready to argue but fell silent when Volcano spoke.

“Little brother,” he said, turning his still streaming eyes in Tephra's direction. His belly scutes and claws both scraped on the concrete as he moved a few steps closer. The pranksters whimpered but fell silent as draconic claws tightened on their throats. “Little brother, remember, Dragon Lord Ember sent us here because she trusts us to behave as the ponies,” he almost spat, “wish us to. So we will. We keep our promises. We are dragons.” Pain broke through his voice. “Now please let Bram go and get what will help me.”

Bram hurried inside. Two dozen angry dragons waited behind him along with three probably dead idiots if he couldn't find what he needed.

Within the doors the Steel Stacks was reclaiming some sanity. The barbecue was overturned. Employees were hurriedly dousing it with fire extinguishers. Small scattered bits of charcoal lay everywhere, being either stomped on or doused with water from handy pitchers. No one, human or dragon or pony, looked hurt. A glance showed neither Cynthia or Iron Wing were present. Some of the New Whelps as well as a few of the humans were talking over by the wall, and he couldn't tell who was angrier. They seemed more intent on lawsuits than on yanking off limbs, thankfully. One noticed him and stepped up. It was Blue Scales, the coffee-drinking Vietnam Vet dragon from that morning.

“How's Volcano? Or those idiots that tossed the fireworks in here?” He looked past Bram. “I heard some yelling out there.”

“Everything's fine,” Bram hoped his words were no lie. “They sprayed some bear mace in Volcano's eyes. He and the other Trueborns wanted to maim those three guys --”

“They should,” Blue Scales said, an ugly light in his eyes. He raised one hand and flexed, sending claws splaying out. "Damn idiots."

“But they calmed down and I'm looking for some milk to wash Volcano's eyes out with.”

Blue Scales made himself useful. He walked over to a nearby table, one of the few still standing, and picked up a pitcher of milk and some cloth napkins.

“Thanks.” Bram looked around. “Where are the cops? Or the guards, or the Bureau security?”

“Those wastes of skin?” Blue grunted his anger. He pointed at a pair of doors leading back into the employee's area. “Iron Wing led another pony , one of those horned ones, back there as soon as the fireworks went off. Your girlfriend Cynthia --”

“She's not my girlfriend!” Blue rolled his eyes in a Yeah, right. Bram colored.

“Whatever she is, she went back there too. She was yelling for the featherduster to get out here. And I suspect here are Pennsylvania's finest,” he snapped as the opposite doors burst open. The police barreled through, obviously expecting Lord-knew-what. A team of paramedics came right behind them. Both stopped when they saw the mess. Several New Whelps, backed up by their human relatives, immediately descended on them with demands that the pranksters be arrested right now, damn it, and why weren't these cops earning the salaries their taxes paid for? The officers promptly started trying to answer everyone's complaint and clear the room at the same time.

“Better make sure they know what's going on,” Blue grunted as he headed for the circle of angry dragons, ponies, and humans around confused police officers and EMTs.

“I'm sure they were lost without you,” Bram muttered as he soaked the napkins and hurried outside. It was almost a relief to leave the lunacy inside and return to the Equestrian dragons and their increasingly terrified prisoners. Widening wet stains showed at the crotches of the pranksters' baggy pants showed just how terrified. The dragons holding them were growling. They laid their bared fangs against the pranksters' necks, and were snorting out little bursts of flame amid their smoke. Bram heaved a sigh of relief that the idiots were still in one piece. He approached Volcano, still blinking slime and tears from his eyes and hissing in pain and anger. Stopping clear of him in case of any sudden moves, he said, “I have the milk here, Volcano.”

“Then use it, human.” That large head swung in Bram's direction and lowered to his face. The sulfur reeked less intensely than before, but he wrinkled his nose at it. He began to sweat. Ordinary teenage dragons felt warm when you stood beside them. Volcano was more like an old blast furnace, almost uncomfortably hot. “Clean my eyes.”

Bram did so, gently wiping and cleaning. When the napkins were useless he started pouring milk right from the pitcher into Volcano's eyes. Tephra watched suspiciously as he worked but Volcano relaxed almost immediately.

“You kept your word, so will we.” Volcano nodded at the other dragons. They relaxed their grip on the three idiots, slightly, but didn't let them go.

“Where are those worthless pony guards,” Volcano growled as he was cleaned. He shifted, tail sweeping over the ground behind him. “Did they go to protect the dragon potions and the scrolls?”

“What?” Bram stepped back to re-soak the napkins. That bear mace left his nose burning just from the smell, even with the milk diluting it. He didn't want to know what Volcano was feeling. “What dragon potions? Don't you mean the transformation scrolls? Weren't you supposed to leave the potions behind at the clinic?”

“Leave them?” Volcano shook his head in contempt. “We have lost three batches of the potion to those robbers in recent weeks. I thought it better to keep them close by and safe. The ponies are not as concerned as they pretend,” he sniffed. “They would not be bothered if there were fewer dragons than we were promised. I know that pegasus Iron Wing does not trust us. And how do you know about the scrolls – ah. Cynthia. Of course. She knows where I put the potions. We kept it a secret...”

“You told every New Whelp and me, big brother,” Tephra rolled his eyes at Volcano's angry snort. “You're surprised the humans all knew about it?”

“I hoped the Whelps could keep a secret,” he snapped back. Some of the assembled dragons looked ashamed. Volcano snarled as Bram kept carefully cleaning his eyes. “At least the potions are a secret. Were. None but you and I knew of them. Oh, and the pony guards and clinic staff but of course they needed to know why I was taking them. Iron Wing looked pleased – What is wrong with you, Bram?” He reared back, shaking his head where Bram had poured most of the pitcher's remaining contents into one eye. “I need not that much!”

Bram didn't hear Volcano He was thinking of something. Those robberies at the clinics, for the gemstones New Whelps needed to feed on... The vandalism afterwards, of dragon potions first and foremost... No one caught, they got in every time, and Iron Wing telling him that if he were wise he wouldn't want to see any more dragons.

And how did those three idiots get in the Stacks without being caught by guards ordered to watch for just such a thing?

“Bram? Bram!” Volcano glared. Tephra stepped close, showing fang. He stopped at a glare from his brother. Volcano turned back to Bram with no friendly look. “What is wrong?”

Bram turned and thrust the napkins and pitcher into the surprised Tephra's claws. “Here, help your brother. Clean gently, understood? Not like you were clawing through rocks. Volcano,” he turned to the confused dragon, “I need to ask these three a question.”

Volcano and the other dragons looked on wondering as he went to the three frat boys. Lancer and Beryl held them and they looked at him in confusion as he spoke to the leader in his now tattered HLF T-shirt.

“Who let you in for this?” Bram demanded, pointing at the main gate. “You were chased out. Those guards would have been told not to let you back inside, right?” He looked at Volcano for confirmation. The big dragon nodded slowly. He turned back to the trio who by now seemed as curious as the dragons to what he was about. “I don't think you sneaked over the fence with that gear,” he tapped the camera one prankster still had. “So who was it?”

“Aw, man, how should I know?” The leader shook his head. “One of the horses with wings, his one leg was all fugly from being burned or something – hey!” Bram turned and hurried back to Volcano. “Get these lizards to let me go! I get locked up for this, my Dad's gonna be pissed!”

Bram ignored him, speaking to Volcano as he hurried past. “I think something may be happening inside with the potions. Besides paramedics and cops are here,” and they were indeed coming through the hole Volcano had made. The paramedics had a stretcher with them. They stopped at the sight of Volcano. He in turn gave them a simple deadpan look. They set it aside and hurried to him with medical bags. The officers, accompanied by some of the clinic ponies, went to the three whimpering pranksters. They looked highly pleased to be getting taken in by human cops rather than devoured by dragons.

“Human,” Volcano called after him. “Bram?”

“I've got to check on Cynthia,” Bram called back and hustled to get back inside. “Wait! The potions. They're in a back room, right here in the Stacks?” Volcano nodded again, and his eyes widened. He hissed at the renewed pain. One of the paramedics demanded he lower his head so they could help him. Volcano just pointed after Bram and said something to Tephra.

Bram turned and hurried inside. He looked around. Everyone seemed busy with no time for him. Where would those potions be? Somewhere safe but where they wouldn't be forgotten, and it'd help if they were refrigerated.

Back through the swinging doors into the employee area. The staff was either trying to help with the mayhem outside or they'd made themselves scarce. He listened carefully. Voices were coming from down the hall beyond another pair of doors. Iron Wing and Cynthia, loud and angry.

Bram looked around for something, anything, to use if he needed it. A somehow untouched fire extinguisher hung nearby. He hesitated. From down the hall behind a mostly-closed door came an angry draconic snarl. It suddenly became a pained yelp. He snatched it and ran.

“I told you before, lizard,” Iron Wing's voice came from behind the door. Bram slowed as he approached. “Stay out of this and you can go back to that human fool of yours. At least until you eat him or throw him out of his house when you make it your lair. I know your kind. Now hand those dragon potions and scrolls over.”

Cynthia spoke, pain in her voice like the last few times he'd spoken to her at Topton before her conversion. “You come and take them.”

Bram peeked and saw nothing good.

Iron Wing and the unicorn he'd spoken to earlier, with a cutie mark of a sword over a shield, stood facing the far corner. The unicorn was in Bureau livery like Iron Wing. His horn glowed a cold blue as it pointed right at her.

Cynthia faced them. The potions sat inside the open fridge behind her. On the floor under her feet were half a dozen rolls of vellum, the polymorph scrolls. Her wings were outspread. She had her claws bared out in front of her. Scorch marks showed in one or two places on her scales. She snarled again, “Get out of here! You backstabber. You're the one who's been ruining the dragon potions. Why?”

“Because there's enough of you monsters in Equestria, that's why!” Iron Wing stomped forward, limping lightly on his left foreleg. His wing-blade cutie mark showed like a pale scar against his flank. The unicorn silently kept his eyes and horn locked on Cynthia like he covered her with a gun. Iron Wing stomped again, drawing her attention. “The Princesses are crazy to think Equestria, that anyplace, can absorb one hundred or two hundred million dragons! They've spent too much time listening to that scheming barbarian Ember and Princess Twilight's pet lizard; they think dragons can change overnight.”

Bram saw how Cynthia paid attention to Iron Wing. As she did, the unicorn began slipping to the side. He looked to be lining up a shot. Bram thought desperately. He didn't stand a chance against two experienced fighters, especially when they had magic.

Inside the room Iron Wing's gaze flickered sidelong at his partner. He said, “Dragons are murdering, thieving savages, always have been, always will be. You humans should have become ponies or griffons or, Tartarus, even Diamond Dogs would be better! But if no one else is willing to do what needs to be done then --”

Cynthia opened her mouth to breathe fire. Iron Wing snorted. The unicorn's horn glowed and a blue force field enveloped her muzzle and limbs. Dragonfire splashed against it uselessly. Fury chased itself in her eyes as she strove against it to no avail.

“I can still put a spellbolt in her if you like,” the unicorn said. Iron Wing considered and nodded.

Bram got ready to rush in. Try to hit the unicorn over the head first and hope Iron Wing didn't simply turn and kick his chest in...

Then everyone froze as a draconic yell came down the hallway.

“Bram-human! Where the Tartarus are you!” Bram didn't dare risk a glance as Tephra called again, his voice echoing from the walls. “My brother thinks something is happening --”

Iron Wing opened his mouth and snapped a command even as Bram yelled.

“Tephra, get here, right now! Iron Wing's going to kill Cynthia!”

Several things happened at once. Iron Wing reared and whinnied. Cynthia's muscles surged under her scaly skin as the confining spell stressed, making a hissing noise. The unicorn got ready to fire another spell, their horn shining painfully bright like a laser.

Bram yelled: “Hey, horn-head!”

And tossed the extinguisher right at the unicorn as they wheeled to stare at him.

The unicorn neighed in shock and fired off the spellbolt, hitting the extinguisher.

“Bram? What are you doing here --”

“Human! What in --”

The extinguisher exploded and foam flew everywhere. Cut off neighs and a shocked roar filled the air as the foam flew into the faces of dragon and ponies.

“No time, Tephra!” Bram ran to Cynthia.

“Let's get out of here!” He snatched at her claw. “The cops are just outside!”

“No!” She jerked her claw back, stepped back against the fridge. “If these go no one else might be able to become a dragon for months, maybe years, and that might be too long!”

“That's the idea!”

Bram dropped into a crouch to catch Iron Wing as he charged. It did no good. Iron Wing weighed almost twice as much as him and was far stronger. Bram slammed back into something unyielding. Someone screamed in pain. A second later Bram knew it was him.

Iron Wing reared over him, forehooves ready to trample. The unicorn turned to fire at him but went down with a wild whinny as Tephra and Cynthia both piled into him with angry roars.

“Fool human!” Iron Wing spat, ears pinned and snorting. “I'm doing this for you too --”

Bram drove his feet up into his barrel. The breath ran out of Iron Wing with a grunt and he fell forward.

Right atop him.

Iron Wing showed Bram how he'd gotten his name as one iron-hard hoof connected with his head. Bram felt the whole world come crashing down on him with a demand of, Fall unconscious!

He'd had a very full night. He took the advice.

#

Bram moaned through a very great amount of pain as he felt something warm and comforting spread through his whole body. Especially his head.

“He'll be okay?” A familiar yet slightly raspy female voice asked. Another familiar, deeper and more masculine raspy voice spoke up.

“He will. I trust ponies little, especially now,” a rumbling growl like some gator in a swamp, “but the healers at the clinic are trustworthy.”

“Thank you, Instructor Volcano,” a third voice said. Bram began opening his eyes as the warmth drove the last of the pain and confusion from his mind and saw a dark green unicorn mare stepping back. As she turned he saw the caduceus on her flank. “He should be well. His injuries were minor.” She paused in her leaving. “Volcano. I, all of us, want to apologize for what Iron Wing and his ponies did. We did not know how deep his anger at dragons ran.”

“What he did is done,” that deep voice rumbled like it rose from a pit. “Let it stay done with his capture. Thank you, Healing Hoof, for aiding him and for healing my eyes.” She nodded and left.

Black scales and golden horns and wings stooped over him. Cynthia looked down at him, her eyes full of worry. She still wore the remains of her 'dragon cavewoman' outfit.

“Cynthia,” he groaned. “Did Iron Wing kill us both? Is this Heaven?” She snorted and tweaked his nose.

Something not quite soft enough was beneath him, a stretcher. He began sitting up. Cynthia stepped back and a massive and gruesome scaly muzzle came into sight. A large claw set itself gently against his chest. The eyes looked puffy and bloodshot.

“Okay, maybe not Heaven after all.”

“It is good to see you too, Bram,” Volcano said dryly. He nodded. “Your human healers said you should not move very much. I am aiding them.”

Bram remembered what had happened. He would have jumped up if not for that claw gently pressing him down.

“The potions --”

Volcano smiled. Politely, no fangs visible.

“The dragon potions were saved because of Cynthia and you,” Bram looked to the side. Cynthia was in the midst of a group of enthusiastic teen dragons, all congratulating her. Tephra embraced her. Or tried to; she slipped from his clutch with a smile. Disappointment flashed across his gray-scaled muzzle before he laughed. The Trueborns turned away as Cynthia walked back over to stand by Bram. She gave his hand a squeeze.

“Tephra aided as well. Iron Wing and the unicorn will both be taken back to Equestria for punishment, or so the ponies say. We will see what they do.” Volcano's sulfur-scented snarl made it obvious that whatever their punishment was, he thought it'd be too lenient.

“So everything went well?” Bram did sit up now. His head swam, but only a little. More like paddling in the kiddie pool.

“You aided us.” Volcano looked back at Bram. “Iron Wing was behind the robberies. He hired thieves to rob the other clinics or their shipments when he could make sure no dragons would be around. He worked with some ponies,” a fearsome rising snarl as those eyes darkened, “maybe even a few other Equestrian creatures who were worried about dragonkind expanding so much.” He stepped back, moving ponderously. “Whatever else there is, I will let Cynthia tell you. I must inform Dragon Lord Ember of this and warn the other clinics to check their ponies for such as Iron Wing.” He sighed and drooped in utterly human fashion. “I will be very, very busy. Bram, fare you well, and my thanks. Cynthia, please remember to give Bram what we spoke of.” He turned and strode away, crouched, and with a mighty leap surged into the air. Bram closed his eyes against the wing-made wind whipping down. When he looked again Volcano was high above and flying towards Allentown and the Clinic.

The Trueborns looked after him and got ready to leave. They began taking off, except for three that walked over to him and Cynthia.

“Human,” Tephra checked himself, “Bram, thanks. You answered a lot of our questions tonight.”

“Mostly it was luck,” Bram protested blearily. Tephra cut him off.

“It's no less an accomplishment for that.” He tapped the human on his aching head. Bram winced. Tephra grinned wickedly. “And without strength and guts, what use is luck?” He turned to Cynthia and smiled more genuinely. “And if you ever want to know what a real dragon is like --”

“I'll ask Volcano,” Cynthia snarked back. Tephra mock-growled, but as he turned to go, Bram caught how his spiked tail wrapped briefly around Cynthia's own. Hers curled back as she smiled. He was in the air and flying after his brother a moment later.

Bram sighed – and choked as two familiar powerful sets of arms wrapped around him. He tried to breath as he felt his ribs starting to cave in.

“Thanks for the movie, Bram,” Beryl tousled his hair before her claw moved to lightly clasp his shoulder. Which meant it felt like being squeezed by a gorilla rather than a hydraulic press. “Er, can we see another one, sometime? Now that we know what to expect?”

“You were as brave as a dragon! Almost,” Lancer bobbed up beside him, still sitting back on her tail. She set her muzzle by his cheek, her crimson gaze looking him right in his eye. “I hope you become one soon! Don't die with the Veil like Cynthia said you want to, I like you too much!”

“Ladies, as you wish,” Bram managed to choke out. They looked delighted, and then with a rush of wings they were flying after the other dragons.

Moving carefully, Bram finally sat up and looked around at the Steel Stacks parking lot. Cynthia set one scaly arm under his, helping him. The EMTs seemed to be busy alongside the clinic staff medic ponies. Thankfully nothing looked serious. He set his arm over her shoulders and gave a whew of relief.

“I imagine the cops will want to speak with us, huh?”

“Probably,” Cynthia shook her head. He ducked his head to avoid the horns. “They spoke with Volcano and Tephra and they want to be talking with the other dragons. Those morons with the firecrackers caused a lot of trouble here, and Iron Wing was worse.” She looked down and traced one set of toe-claws against the concrete. Little bits of it cracked away from them. “The weirdest past is I can't fully blame him. I thought this,” she swept her claw to take in her muzzle, gold horns, gold-membrane wings, curvy black scaled body, long muscular tail, “was just going to be, well, fun. I'd be strong and healthy again. I'd be able to fly, to bounce bullets, be strong as ten men...”

“Faster than a speeding bullet,” Bram smiled as she did. “Stronger than a locomotive.”

“Heh. Yeah,” Cynthia looked so tired. He remembered that she was, after all, over eighty years old. Even if that meant something else for a dragon. “I didn't think what it's going to all mean in a century or more. I always used to laugh at those stories about super-races enslaving everyone else. But I'm a dragon now,” she stretched one scaly arm. “We actually can do that if there are millions of us. If we're still here...”

“You'll be here,” Bram said. She looked up, ready to argue. He held up a hand. “I think I'm over just waiting for the Veil. Few things fire your love of life more than being nearly killed. But maybe I won't become a dragon,” Bram looked skywards and rubbed his chin. “Maybe I'll be a griffon, or a Diamond Dog or even Earth pony. Someone has to make sure all you firedrakes will have gems to eat.”

He stopped as Cynthia waved one of the vellum scrolls under his eyes.

“Maybe this will help you decide. Volcano said to leave it with you.” She unrolled it. He saw the elegant curves and loops of pony horn-writing and under them, something akin to runes, all sharp lines. She answered his unspoken question. “It's one of the dragon-transformation scrolls. They were going to be handed out but, er, with all the excitement? Volcano, and me, we want you to know what it'll feel like to be a dragon.”

“Thanks.” Bram took it gingerly. He remembered those other young converted New Whelps. “Wait, if I do become a dragon, won't I be a kid again? What will that mean with --” He looked at Cynthia. She smiled wide enough to display fang-tips.

“Bram, I've got a thousand years or more to look forward to.” Cynthia tapped his nose, “I'll be able to wait for you.”

“Whatever you do, let's stay friends as long as we can,” Bram pointed to her bag. “Who else can I ask about the old days of fandom?”

“Yeah.” Cynthia smiled. To his surprise she leaned in close and pressed a kiss on him. Bram didn't resist. The normal draconic sulfur breath seemed pleasant for a change. A comfortable warmth spread through him, and her lips were not as rough as he thought. When she pulled back he felt surprised smoke didn't come from his nostrils. She looked up and saw the EMTs and police headed their way and walked off to answer whatever questions they had. “See you later.”

“Alligator,” Bram called after her. She just laughed. He slumped, the night's events catching up with him even though the healing spell. He carefully folded the scroll and put it in one pocket.

I could use the scroll. I could become a dragon with the potion. Or I could not take it. I can still die as a human. If that's what I want. Or I could become a dragon, live for centuries – with Cynthia, I hope – and see just what really does happen with this old world.

He remembered that morning and watching her fly above Hawk Mountain. He strongly suspected he'd be seeing her fly for many a year to come. Those old words came back to him but now he smiled at them.

Life goes on, will it or not.

Lawsuits and Dragons

Bram was in his living room, doing a few push-ups to concentrate on something other than Tephra's racket with his human girlfriend upstairs and Cynthia's absence when the Secret Service men knocked on his door.

He'd gotten interested in exercise lately as a result of trying and failing to keep up with Cynthia, Tephra, and the other New Whelps. As a way of distracting them, and himself, from the lawsuit hitting the local Conversion Clinic and Tephra's big brother Volcano and their friends there he'd taken them to see local sights. Waterfalls in Bucks County, the Dutch Wonderland amusement park where the dragons had rolled on the ground laughing when they met the park's dragon mascot, hikes along the local rail trail – well, he hiked it. They flew above it, dropping down occasionally to tell him with fanged grins that he looked like a little beetle crawling along the ground below them. It kept them occupied and him exhausted, and he decided to get in better shape.

He no longer felt like dying with the rest of the world when the Veil came to slay everyone who hadn't converted into Equestrian life forms, pony or dragon or griffon or whatever. But that wouldn't help if he died from trying to keep up with four near inexhaustible balls of energy.

It was in the middle of all this that a firm and insistent knocking came at the door.

“Just a moment!” Bram called, getting heavily to his feet. He was tall and solid built, hair gone white early like his father, and building some more muscle these past few weeks. The knock came again. Bram wondered if he could expect his house-guest to get the door as he passed by the stairwell. Giggles mixed with a low eager hiss from upstairs answered that.

“I always wondered what dragons did with those princesses they snatched in them fairy tales,” a gleeful feminine voice said. Bram's ears colored as it added, “Oh, that tail! Tephra, you devil!”

“Devil?” A deeper voice answered, a heavy rumble with what Bram had learned to recognize as a draconic accent. Tephra said, “I know something about that Tartarus of you humans. A lake of fire? All the heat we can take, no more cold toes or waiting your turn? I hope I go there one day. But until then?” Another rumbling growl and a whoop from her. Bram colored and hurried past paintings and 19th century photos hanging along the walls. Bearded and mustachioed men, many in military uniforms and one or two missing a limb, mixed with stern-faced women in bonnets and long dresses. They were his ancestors. Most were frowning their disapproval at turning the 250-year-old Siegfried home into a dragon's lair of lust.

Bram glanced at the painting of his oldest ancestor, old Colonel John Siegfried in his Continental uniform, as he glowered.

“No more horny fire lizards just as soon as Cynthia helps Beryl and Lancer find an apartment that can take three dragons, I swear.” Colonel Siegfried didn't answer his descendant, but then, Bram didn't expect him to. He'd often spoken to the old painting in the days after his father and mother died, when it'd been just him rattling all through this old empty house.

The knock came again. It sounded harder now.

“Just a minute!” Bram snapped as he reached the door. He peeked through the spy-hole and saw three unsmiling men outside in dark suits and with sunglasses. They looked serious. He got the idea someone else was there, too. There seemed to be an odd shadow anyway. He opened the door and said, “Good day, may I know what --” The first two men pushed their way inside, driving him back before them as he gave way in stunned surprise. They were both white and between their clothes, their shades, their short military haircuts and an alert bearing could have been twins. Bram tried bracing himself. “Hey! What goes on here?”

“Secret Service,” the third man said as he came in, flashing a badge. Bram didn't often look up at people but he did now. This man was tall and broad and dark as mahogany and bald as an eggshell. His nose had a kink in where it'd once been broken. Other than that he wore the same clothes as the other two men and the same indefinable air of being ex-military. “Special Agent Kingman, these are Special Agents Linden and Fitzgerald, please stand back and let us make sure this home is cleared.”

“Well?” Someone spoke outside. It sounded female and impatient and inhuman. Bram guessed the owner to be a dragon. And going by what he'd learned to recognize as a sort of 'sameness' to the sound of translation spells a Trueborn Equestrian and not a converted human. “Can I come in now?”

“Not just yet, ma'am,” Special Agent Kingman moved to keep Bram between him and the wall while the other two quickly and efficiently checked the lower floor. They went through the rooms, entry foyer, living room slash Cynthia's temporary bedroom, kitchen, dining room. They checked every closet and opened the larger cabinets as well, moving with the assurance of long practice.

“What do they expect to find, exactly?” Bram snapped. “And why are you here in the first place?”

Agent Kingman said nothing until they returned to him. Then: “Well?”

“It's clear,” Agent Fitzgerald said. Or maybe Agent Linden. Bram couldn't tell them apart.

“Now may I come inside?” That voice huffed outside. “It's cold out here. Even for me.”

“And me,” Bram said, his annoyance mounting. He made himself remember his father's advice about dealing with police in any form. Never volunteer any information and watch your manners. “Can you at least close that door if you won't let them inside?”

He fell silent as Agent Kingman turned those dark eyeglasses on him. The man exuded an air of quiet menace. “Sir, I will politely request you remain silent until you are asked a direct question. First of all, I noticed two vehicles outside. Now I will assume that one is yours. Who does the other one belong to?”

“A young,, er, lady,” Bram pointed upstairs. “She's visiting with a friend of mine upstairs right now – hey!” Agent Kingman nodded at one of the agents. They smoothly hurried upstairs. “Mister, don't do that! You need to know something --”

A moment later they heard a feminine shriek coupled to a rumbling draconic roar from the next floor.

“I assume your friend is a dragon named Tephra,” Agent Kingman said without missing a beat. “The younger brother of Clinic trainer and Dragonlands diplomat Volcano son of Magma.” When Bram didn't answer he frowned slightly. “Sir? Must I repeat myself?” Bram noticed a bulge at his armpit. He suspected quite strongly that these men had guns.

“No, I mean yes, that's him,” Bram winced as he heard another deep rumbling snarl from upstairs. The upstairs agent said something mild-sounding enough. A moment later a frazzled and curvy blonde hurried downstairs. Her stylish shoes were on and she wore a long coat. She clutched it tight around her with one hand. The rest of her clothes dangled from a small bag over her arm. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at the two agents. They barely glanced at her. This looked to be nothing new to them.

“Oh, and that's his girlfriend Molly,” Bram nodded at her. She nodded back, looking stunned.

“Thank you, sir, but that identification was not necessary,” Agent Kingman sounded bored.

Molly headed for the door past Bram, muttering as she went. “Geeze, Bram, did ya shoot somebody?”

“No, ma'am,” Agent Kingman said quietly. ”This is a perfectly routine check to make sure this domicile is safe and secure for the visit of a foreign head of state.” Molly's eyes widened. Agent Kingman smiled thinly. “Now please hurry home. I've been told several times that it's cold outside.”

Molly said nothing but hurried to her car. Bram heard a surprised “Oh!” from her as she stepped out. “Oh! Uh, hi, Miss Dragon. Uh, if you're either that Beary or Lanced ladies I heard about, nothing happened in there.” She sounded disappointed. “Nothin' that I wanted to happen, anyway.” Miss Dragon didn't respond. Bram heard Molly go to her car, start it, and leave.

“Now may I --”

“Ma'am,” Agent Kingman sounded increasingly frustrated. “Not. Yet.” He turned to Bram. The other agent came downstairs followed by a hissing and fangs-bared Tephra. The red streaks on his gray scales looked like bloodstains in this light. He ducked his head to keep his horns from gouging the plaster and wood of the ceiling as he glared around.

“What the Tartarus is this all about?” He thrust his muzzle forward and sniffed, tongue tasting the air, as he looked at the three agents first and then at Bram. Fangs flashed as he spoke. “Human! Is this some joke your kind like to do?”

“Sir.” Agent Kingman spoke. “We are inspecting this home to make sure it is safe and secure for our principal outside. I am sure she will explain it all to you soon. Now will you please sit down and be patient?” He indicated the beat up old couch in the living room. Bram noticed how the other two agents' hands twitched as though they felt the need to be holding guns. He couldn't blame them. He'd seen what angry dragons, even ones as small as Tephra, could do.

Tephra snorted smoke but he went to stand by the couch, arms folded over his scaly chest.

Agent Kingman spoke to Bram.

“Sir, are there any outbuildings or a basement here?”

“We have a basement, but it's cramped and dirty, and the inside stairs need work.” Bram kept an eye on Tephra. Tephra noticed Bram was being held back. His lip curled back over his fangs. Bram waved one hand at Tephra in the hopes he stayed calm. The last thing he needed was for him to try helping by attacking federal agents. Tephra frowned but relaxed. “You better use the outside ones if you need to look at it. And there's a shed out back but it's falling apart.” As he spoke Tephra sniffed again. He looked confused, as though he recognized a scent.

Special Agent Kingman said nothing. He just nodded at Agent Linden. He turned on his heel and went out the back door.

“Ugh!” The owner of the voice started to come inside. He heard claws on the wood of the foyer floor.

“Ma'am!” Agent Kingman spoke in sharp command. “I will tell you when we are sure this place is secure! Until then please be patient --”

“I am through with waiting!” A dragon's snarl to those words. “They told me at the Clinic that Volcano trusted these people. I trust him. If he trusts them, that's enough for me!” 'Miss Dragon' turned from the foyer into the house, the light shining in through the windows playing over dark blue head spikes and bright blue scales. Batlike wings arched above her head, making her look taller than her six feet of height. Heavy downturned horns framed a face with crimson eyes that looked around the room in a mixture of disgust and annoyance. In one claw she clutched a golden scepter with a massive and crudely cut ruby topping it. Bram knew it from dragons' descriptions. The Bloodstone Scepter. He knew her too, from TV and Internet and magazines and newspapers.

That's Dragon Lord Ember. Bram wondered how he'd ever do if he met an Equestrian royal. He always hoped he'd behave with good manners, but right now he was just thinking that he should be wearing something more than beat-up old clothes. Okay, but why is she here, in my house?

And if that didn't identify her, Tephra did when he gasped and dropped to one knee. He looked more subdued than Bram could ever remember seeing before, even when dealing with his twenty-foot-long brother Volcano. Ember stepped closer and held out the Bloodstone Scepter towards him. Tephra lowered his head until the scepter rested above his horns.

“Dragon Lord Ember,” Tephra kept his head low. He set one clawed hand on the floor, and Bram winced to see it rip up small splinters from the wood. “Be welcome to my lair. I mean, my temporary lair. If Beryl and Lancer were here they'd honor you as well. I think. I mean of course they would.”

“If they were here,” Ember said, her voice cool, “I doubt that human Molly-female would be.” Tephra gulped audibly. Ember rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Get up, will you? I came here to talk, not look at the back of your head.” Tephra got up quickly. Ember turned her crimson eyes on Bram. “So. You're the Bram human.”

“Yes,” Bram answered, wondering how to address her. He tried to remember some recent lessons in Draconic he'd been taking from Tephra and Volcano. “Dragon Lord.” It sounded like cross between a lowering hiss and a grunting roar. Or as close as he could get with human vocal cords, which wasn't very.

Tephra stared at him, horrified. Ember's eyes went wide and then narrowed. She stepped close, snorting flame. He didn't wince from the rotten eggs odor of her breath. Showing weakness to any dragon only encouraged them to get more aggressive.

“Just a hint for future meetings,” Ember spoke in a low voice. She raised her free hand and held up a single claw. “What you said? That was more of an insult. You want to start out with the roar and then go a lowered hiss. You can be grateful I understand that humans don't speak a civilized language very well. If at all.” He nodded. The heat from her was like standing beside a stove. Ember stepped back. “Also, thank you for aiding one of my dragons a few weeks ago. Volcano told me he might have gone blind if not for your cleaning his eyes. And you caught the ponies who were destroying dragon potions.” She lightly tapped him on one shoulder with her claw. Well, lightly for a dragon, anyway. It took a moment for Bram to regain feeling in his arm. “You did well.” She scowled. “It might have been better if you did it in such a way that this, ugh, lawsuit thing didn't happen.”

“That's why you're here?” Bram and Tephra both said. Tephra sounded as surprised as Bram felt. Ember was the lord of all dragonkind, one of the major rulers in Equestria, and a major supporter of the Conversion Clinics along with her fellow Equestrian royals like Princess Celestia and Queens Gilda and Novo. A lawsuit seemed a bit beneath her.

“Yes, the lawsuit,” Ember sat down on Bram's couch. She folded her tail up and out of the way with practiced grace. “Where is the New Whelp who was involved? Cyn-something?”

“Cynthia Stoltz.” Bram nodded at the couch. “She sleeps there.”

“Sometimes,” Tephra said with a wicked gleam in his eye. He cringed a little when Ember frowned at him.

“She does?” She sniffed at the couch. “Well, now I'll know her when I smell her. Do you expect her to be home soon?”

“Ma'am,” Bram said, wondering what this was about, “I'm not sure. She took Beryl and Lancer, Tephra's packmates, out to look for some rooms of their own...”

“You don't like having dragons as guests.” Ember cocked an eyebrow as she said it.

“There isn't a lot of room here, ma'am,” Bram indicated the house. It was older than the USA, if not in its current form. “This place was made for people who liked it, ah, I guess 'cozy' is the word.”

“'Cramped' would be another,” Ember sniffed.

“We get along fine, Dragon Lord,” Tephra added and smiled, politely, not showing any fangs. “Bram has a room for Beryl and Lancer and me, we sleep on a mattress.”

Ember shot him a sour look.

“You need a mattress to sleep on.” It was a criticism, not a question. “Are you a dragon or a pony?” Tephra actually looked embarrassed, ducking his head like a child being scolded and long tail lashing. Bram gulped to see how close it got to a lamp on one side and a small statue set on a table on the other.

“Human, I apologized about breaking the phone, all right?” Tephra rolled his eyes. Ember just cleared her throat.

“It's not right to sleep on the floor, Miss Ember.” She glanced at him as though to say, did I ask for your opinion? He steadied himself and said, “They're my guests. If I think they need a mattress, they get one.” He quickly added, “And I don't know when Cynthia will be back. I can call her to return.”

“No.” Ember stood up. Her escorts did so as well, the two agents moving beside her as Special Agent Kingman went to the turn-off leading to the foyer. “I need to speak to everyone involved in this mess. It's better we do this back at the Clinic. Call her and tell her to meet us there.” She headed for the door, her toeclaws clicking over the floor. “Tephra. You fly there with me.” She pointed at Bram. “You. Kingman, is it? Bring him to the Clinic in your wagon --”

“It's a van, Ma'am,” Agent Kingman said, “an armored van. Meant to be used by and for you.” He didn't look in Bram's direction but he still got the idea the agent was annoyed with him. “And Ma'am, speaking as the chief agent of your protective detail, I strongly insist that you travel in our van and do not enter the building until we have swept and secured it.”

Ember ignored him to walk outside. The agents followed. Save for Agent Kingman, who picked up a jacket and handed it to Bram.

“Put it on. You're coming with us.”

“Agent Kingman,” Ember called from where she stood outside, in the middle of the small area of gravel and asphalt, with trees just beyond, their branches bare and skeletal. “It may have escaped your notice, but I am a dragon.”

“I did notice that, Ma'am,” Agent Kingman said as he walked towards the van where the two agents were already seated and waiting, its engine running. “It is rather self-evident.”

Bram hustled to keep up with them. He noticed how the early Spring sunlight made sapphires of Ember's scales and ran chilly fingers along dark blue wing membranes as she spread them. Tephra spread his red-streaked gray wings beside her.

Ember went on like he'd said nothing. “I can fly, I can breathe fire, I am strong enough to rip the sides off of your metal wagon, and my scales can turn bullets.”

“I'd like to see her try 'turning' rounds from a Barrett Model 82,” Agent Linden muttered. If Agent Kingman heard anything he said nothing. He just opened the side of the van and motioned for Bram to enter.

“Ma'am,” he said, in that same cool and calm voice he'd used since first arriving. “I am not unaware of your physical capabilities, but it is still my duty to keep you in one piece. And there are people who have a problem with that. We warned you about them.”

“And I have my own guards,” Ember seemed to be taking pleasure in ignoring Agent Kingman.

Even as she spoke something dropped to the earth right beside Bram and the van with a massive thud. Maybe the agents ignored it. Bram didn't know. He only knew that this new dragon had all of his attention.

She stood as tall as Volcano and at least as long, maybe twenty feet, maybe more. Dark green scales, wings that showed signs of old tears where the membranes had hasn't grown back together properly. Scars showed along her limbs were they weren't covered by the armor she wore, heavy plates of iron that encased the dragon. Emerald-green eyes looked from Ember to Bram, dismissed him coldly, and turned back to Ember.

“Dragon Lord,” she said, and bowed her head. At least Bram assumed her to be a female, going by what he'd learned about dragons. A long and slender muzzle, a high if raggedly torn crest on the head that dangled to one side, and wings that looked sharper in outline than Volcano or Tephra's all indicated 'dragoness'. Her voice also sounded higher than Volcano's bass rumble. But only slightly.

“Dragon Lord Ember,” she repeated. “If all is ready Blaze and I are prepared.” She and Ember both looked up. Bram's gaze followed theirs. He saw wheeling high above like some gigantic hawk another dragon, as massive as this one, colored a dull red. From the glinting he imagined Blaze wore armor as well. Bram wondered how bad this could be. Tephra and Volcano had both told him that armor was formal wear among dragons, forged by each individual dragon and worn on only the most important or dangerous occasions.

The problem was that among dragons, 'important' and 'dangerous' were often the same thing.

“Good,” Ember said it as though she expected nothing less. “Tephra here will be leading us to the Clinic, Jade. He flies beside me.” The way she said it, and the way Jade glared at Tephra as he stood stoically, Bram assumed it would have gone badly for the gray dragon if he'd dared fly close to the Dragon Lord without her permission. At least while this giant was around.

“Tephra, Ember, see you at the Clinic.” Bram nodded at them. Neither so much as glanced at him. They simply took to the air, wings pounding furiously and sounding like heavy sheets catching a strong wind. Bram expected that. Dragons didn't do long farewells.

He didn't expect Jade to wheel on him, head down and fangs bared.

“Human, has the Dragon Lord given you permission to address her in such a familiar tone?” Her breath felt like a hot desert wind blasting into his face. His eyes began to water as she said, “To you, she is the Dragon Lord until she tells you otherwise. Do not presume that because she needs to speak with you that it makes you her, her,” she worked to spit the words out, “her friend, her equal. She is not some puny pony princess. Understood?”

“I understand, Jade.” Bram felt the eyes of the agents on his back but he kept his attention on the armored dragon before him. Her eyes widened slightly as he said, “And you understand, I am not her subject. She came to me. I will be spoken to in a civil fashion in my own home. Am I clear?”

Jade snarled in his face. He caught a glimpse of something like green flame deep down in her throat past that fang-lined mouth. He held his ground. Turn his back or show fear now and she'd walk all over him every chance she got. Trueborn dragons despised timidity.

Jade turned her back on him. “Do not be late to the Clinic. The Dragon Lord has better things to do than wait for you.” She crouched and leaped skywards. Bram ducked when her tail almost struck him. It slapped against the asphalt beside him and cracked it. Half a dozen wingbeats and she was airborne and gone after Ember and the rest.

Bram slowly let out the breath he'd been holding. Agent Kingman watched him, hands folded behind his back and looking very unimpressed.

“Now,” Agent Kingman said. “That you have proved your machismo by defying a creature that could kill you with a slap if it wanted to, will you please get your backside inside the van so we can get going?”

Bram silently entered and sat on one of the seats as Agent Kingman joined him. The van started and headed out down to Schoenersville Road.

“Agent Linden, Agent Fitzgerald, you do know where the Clinic in question is?”

“Got it on GPS, sir.”

“I know the route --” Agent Kingman held up a finger. A polite one. Bram fell silent.

“Sir, you will be most helpful by remaining silent unless you are asked a question.” He turned to his own pad, touched it once or twice. “Special Agent In Charge Garcia? This is Special Agent Kingman, Dragon Lady just left,” Bram barely restrained a snicker at 'Dragon Lady', “we are now going directly to the Clinic.” A small voice responded to him. “Yes ma'am. Three demonstrators outside the clinic, keeping it peaceful. We will be keeping an eye on them. I will report more if needed.” He hung up. “Mister Siegfried, you may now phone Miss Stoltz and tell her to meet you at the Clinic.”

“Thank you,” Bram said, feeling nettled. Did he need to be treated like this? He got his phone out and called. Cynthia answered.

“Bram? Is everything okay?”

“Just fine,” he said, turning slightly away to not have to look at the agents. Even an illusion of privacy helped. “Except that Dragon Lord Ember, some dragon bodyguards, and the Secret Service all showed up at my house and are shanghaiing Tephra and I off to the clinic for some reason. They want you there too, right now.”

Spluttering came through from the other end. “Is this a joke?”

“Cynthia, right now I am siting inside an armored van with three very unhappy Secret Service agents. Please, can you get to the Clinic?”

“Well, yes, I mean,” Bram could imagine Cynthia's confusion. “I just got a place for Beryl and Lancer. I mean I tried, I really think they prefer living with us. They told me that dragon packs will sleep in the same lair if they can.”

“They also like sleeping in the same pile,” Bram shuddered at the memory. “I'd prefer not to wake up to find several four- to five-hundred pound dragons laying atop me snoring away. The new bed would probably appreciate it too.”

“Is Bram complaining again?” A faint voice came through.

“Yes, Lancer, Bram is complaining again,” he said with a sigh. “I do not need a new bed, even if you paid for the last one, any more than I need some new scars when one of you has a nightmare. I want you three to have your own place. You can destroy it and not my home.” Growls at that. “And Cynthia, you seriously need to be getting to the Clinic.”

“Bram, this better not be a joke.” A deep sigh from the other end. “But I'll be there.” She hung up and so did he.

Bram looked at Agent Kingman. “Miss Stoltz should be there when we arrive. I hope that will be enough, sir.”

“So do I,” the dark-suited man said, and then nothing more until they arrived at the Clinic.

When they did get there and left the van in front of the clinic, Bram frowned and pointed at the 'No Parking' sign.

“We are Federal Agents engaged in our duties, sir,” Agent Kingman said with what sounded like some small amusement. “We can ignore 'No Parking' signs.”

The Clinic looked the same as ever, big sign of a human hand over a hoof, brick facade and big glass window and big glass automatic doors. The same three sign-toting protesters were there. Winky and Blinky and Nod, as Bram thought of them. Nod, as always the most raggedy of the trio, bore a sign labeled DEATH TO MONSTERS, SAVE HUMANITY with the crude image of a sword through a slain dragon. Or maybe it was a gecko. Nearby stood the Clinic staff, humans and ponies mainly and most of them familiar to Bram. Even the new faces, brought in since Iron Wing and his treacherous cronies had been recalled to Equestria, were getting easy to recognize.

“Granch,” he said to the dark-hooded and scowling Griffinstone griffin. He nodded at the bat pony mare – no, wait, they preferred 'thestral' – and lean and graceful Abyssinian cat-woman standing beside him. “Miss Nightshade, Miss Mewsette. Why is everyone outside?”

Granch looked at him, frowning. Bram never stopped wondering how a beak could be so expressive. “Some dweeb humans in suits came in, flashed around badges, told everyone to get out while they made sure the building was safe.” He ruffled his feathers up. “When I asked what was going on they told me it was none a' my business and put me out. What the Tartarus did they think they were gonna find? Storm Creatures hiding in the broom closet?”

Before Bram could answer Nightshade reared up in front of him. He made himself not look away. She was pretty. For a four-legged miniature horse with bat wings, that is. And fangs. And golden cat eyes. Add in a styled mane and dark eyeshadow and dresses made to fit and flatter her body and she left most human males he knew feeling very odd. Bram was one of them. Her constant flirting with every male she met as well as that silky voice and Bela Lugosi accent of hers didn't help.

“Bram? You're not in trouble, are you?” She set her hooves on his shoulders, leaning against him slightly. The late winter chill in the air vanished immediately. She smelled like flowers rather than either bats or Terran ponies, just enough of a scent without getting overwhelming. Worry showed in her pale yellow eyes. “I mean, here you are vith these men, and Dragon Lady Ember is inside, and no one told us vhat's going on.”

“It's probably something with that lawsuit,” Mewsette sniffed. The cream-furred Abyssinian in the cowl-neck and blazer lashed her tail and shivered against the cold. “Volcano should've stepped on that little creep. Would've saved everyone some trouble.”

“Then this would have been a murder investigation and not a simple lawsuit,” Swift Aid Apple, the Earth pony chief of the clinic said as she trotted over. She bore a palomino coat and honey-blonde mane and tail. It swished and slapped against her cutie mark, an apple set against the sun. Her blue eyes looked around at them all from behind those wire-frame glasses she wore. “We have enough problems right now, thank you. Bram,” she flicked her tail in the direction of Agent Kingman, “do you know why that Secret Serve man who brought you is talking with one of our three regulars?” A slightly weary smile at that last word. Ponies seemed long-enduring even in the face of the greatest hostility. Bram wondered if that didn't just incite these people even more.

His gaze followed hers. Agent Kingman, smart and even stylish in his suit, was speaking with Nod in his collection of unwashed cast-offs. To his surprise they seemed to be on familiar terms.

“Mister Dishnot,” Agent Kingman said, cool and formal. “I'm surprised to see you here. It's usually human politicians you're complaining about.”

Nod shook his head. “They weren't human. I kept telling you, they were all shapeshifting reptoids from the Hollow Earth. Baby-eating devil worshipers. Like those!” He angrily pointed his sign up at Blaze and Jade wheeling high above. The sunlight flashed on their scales and armor.

“Mister Dishnot,” Agent Kingman sighed, removed his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “I can assure you they are nothing of the kind.”

“They came here to destroy the human race, and you're helping them!” Nod swung the sign and took a few steps forward, head down and glowering. “No one is doing anything because they've all been fooled! They eat babies and hunt people down outside our cities and you guys are covering for them!”

Swift Aid and the rest looked at Bram in confusion, This was obviously a new one on them. The look on their faces suggested they wanted an explanation. Bram shook his head 'No' at them. Maybe he could explain about a certain conspiracy crackhead's books on invading alien lizard people later. Maybe. But probably not.

“I've posted all about in on my blog! With photos!” Nod ranted on, spittle spraying. “But the NSA-Jesuit hackers and their pony allies used their witchcraft to ruin it to make me look stupid and crazy! But I know! I know!” He glared at Bram and the others, thrusting his sign upwards. Granch made a gesture back that the griffon had been quick to learn.

“Granch!” Nightshade hissed.

“What?” The griffon shrugged, his wings rustling.

Agent Kingman displayed tremendous aplomb by ignoring all of it to keep speaking calmly to Nod.

“Mister Dishnot,” he said as coolly as though they were discussing the weather. “I know I have been late with my usual quarterly chat with you. But I have been very busy chasing down a ring involved in wide-scale identity theft, which is a matter that concerns you as much as any other citizen. I still remind you to behave yourself and keep your distance from any of this country's elected officials. Or visiting heads of state, even if they're not human.” He emphasized the last words. Nod actually looked a little embarrassed. Agent Kingman added, “Perhaps you should go home, get out of this cold, and think about it there.”

Nod looked ready to turn and leave when with a heavy flap of wings Cynthia dropped down right beside Bram. He braced himself, and when her heavy warm weight fell against him he caught her.

“Your landings still need work,” he said. She grinned back at him.

“Hey, any landing you can walk away from...”

“Monster! You're killing humanity!” Bram and Cynthia both recoiled as Nod ran at them. His hand flashed to a pocket in his jacket. It came back out with something that shone like metal as he aimed it at Bram. “And you're helping it, species traitor! I'm gonna fix you!”

Cynthia grabbed for him, Nod jerked back, and Bram saw what he held. One of those cell phones you could use for a camera. He pointed it at Bram's face and snapped a photo. Nod jeered, revealing a mouthful of stained and missing teeth. “Now everyone's gonna know who you are, scaly screwer! The defenders of humanity are gonna fix your backstabbing ass!”

“You little turd!” Cynthia snarled, her eyes blazing gold and her claws scratching at the pavement as she lunged. “I'll shove that thing up your ass, you little --”

“Hold it!” Cynthia recoiled and Nod jumped back with a yelp as Agent Kingman seemed to just materialize between them. “Ma'am!” His voice lashed. “Please permit me to handle this.” Cynthia growled but subsided. He turned back to Nod. “Now as for you, Mister Dishnot?”

Nod was already twenty feet away and getting into a beaten-looking van. His two friends waved at him from the open door. It was covered with parts from different vehicles, doors and side panels and even rear door all in different colors and most of them spotted with rust. In a moment it was off and speeding away down the street.

“Very efficient,” Granch's voice dripped sarcasm. His talons and claws clicked lightly over the pavement as he stepped closer to the agent. “I see now why you people defend their elected king or whatever this country has.” Agent Kingman turned and towered over him. Granch's feathers ruffled out but he didn't back down.

“I got that man out if here without anyone getting hurt, including him.” He straightened his suit. “If you think you can do better, Mister Catbird, then please come down to the Secret Service training course and show us poor agents how it's done.” Granch just sneered and walked back to his fellow clinic staff.

“I'm sorry I lost my temper,” Cynthia said. The sulfur odor around her smelled stronger than usual. “But I didn't like having him wave that camera in our faces. Who is he, anyway?” She frowned in suspicion. “You seemed to know him.”

“Madam,” Agent Kingman straightened his tie, “believe me, I can understand your annoyance at Mister Dishnot. It's been a part of my job for five years to keep an eye on that man after he threatened several presidential candidates for being part of some conspiracy of invading aliens.” He started towards the door, where Bram saw another agent waiting, this one a solidly-built woman in a dark business outfit. “Unfortunate recent events have done nothing to convince him he's wrong.”

“Should we be worried about that guy?” Cynthia looked back after the now gone van, craning her long reptilian neck. “He sounded seriously angry.”

“I can say that Mister Dishnot has made a great many threats but he's never done anything illegal.” Agent Kingman turned to Bram and Cynthia. “I am reasonably sure that he's mostly harmless.” Bram wondered how safe was 'mostly'. Meanwhile Agent Kingman was speaking to the female agent. “Special FBI Agent in Charge Garcia. These people are guests of her majesty. I cleared him,” he pointed at Bram, “back at his house and he's been secure since.”

Agent Garcia said nothing, but she glanced at Cynthia.

She just snorted and put clawed hands on her hips.

“Young lady,” Cynthia said, spreading her wings and exposing her black and gold scaled body, “even if I wanted to sneak something in, where would I hide it?” Besides a small money purse on a belt at her waist, she wore nothing.

Agent Garcia nodded, still looking sour, “Okay, you can come in.” As they walked past her she said to Kingman, “Let's hope we can get this over with fast so we can all get back to our regular investigations.” She walked along with them as another agent took position at the door.

“When will they be letting the staff and the would-be converts back in?” Bram asked Kingman as they headed through the waiting area and back to the clinic office and a small meeting room. The place looked the same as ever, like a slightly upscale doctor or dentist's office, provided you ignored the half a dozen men and women in business suits checking the place over. Bram twitched uneasily as they walked. The place felt odd minus the usual soft music, ringing phones, worried and strained and polite conversations all going on at once, and the occasional shocked cry or whoop of joy emanating from the conversion rooms proper.

Bram peered in one of the clinic's eight conversion rooms as they passed it. A camera stood in one corner to film the change to prove the New Foal or Whelp or Griflet was who they said they were, and that no one was being quietly killed and replaced with aliens here, a doctor's exam table for them to lie down on, cupboards against the wall and a table and all the paperwork needed on it. And all the usual smells of feathery griffon and sweet-smelling pony and that faint mix of sulfur and rank reptilian odor that said dragon, all with an undertone of medical sterility underneath.

Bram wondered at how mundane the place seemed when you considered that human beings came in as themselves and left, usually less than an hour later, as something out of legend.

Really it didn't look like much to be a representative of the world that was unintentionally bringing humanity to an end.

Now Bram could hear Ember's voice, raised in anger behind the door ahead. “And just where ARE they, anyway? They have to be 'cleared' too? Ugh, do you do this with your human rulers too? Back in the Dragonlands it's taken for granted that I know how to defend myself.”

“Ma'am, your majesty, please understand that we are trying to do our job here...”

The door opened onto the room. The chairs and tables were pushed to the sides. On either side of the room stood Agents Linden and Fitzgerald while Ember paced back and forth in the middle. Tephra stood in one corner, watching Ember pace. She still held the Bloodstone Scepter in one claw, her blue-scaled hand so tight on it he could see the tendons standing out through the scales. She stopped and turned to look at them.

“Ugh, finally! I actually get to see someone I wanted to see today!” She walked up to Cynthia. She looked her up and down. Cynthia coldly returned the favor. “Well, New Whelp, you look healthy at least. Volcano is doing the job I trusted him to do.”

“Instructor Volcano has always done right by us, Ember.” Cynthia said back. Tephra gasped and started forward, but subsided at a warning glance from the Dragon Lord. Cynthia set her fists on her hips. “I hope you're able to help him, Miss Ember.” There was a sweetly poisonous emphasis on the last two words.

“To you,” Ember's grip tightened on the scepter, her claws and scales scraping against the gold, “I am Dragon Lord Ember. Get that through your head, New Whelp.”

Cynthia just smirked back at her. “And I'm not one of your subjects, Ember, and I never will be. Kindly get that through your head, Trueborn.”

Bram was getting confused. From what Volcano and the other Trueborn dragons had told him, Ember was fairly easy-going and informal. Her actions here seemed very at odds with that. He'd known about Cynthia's disdain for how dragons ran their society, he could even understand it, but now was not the right time to be indulging her dislike for the angry dragon in front of them.

Ember snarled and stepped forward. Her claws ripped at the tiling underfoot. Cynthia dug her own feet in.

“Ladies! Dragon Lord,” Tephra hurried over and put himself between the two dragonesses. They both stepped back, wings spread in surprise as Tephra took Cynthia by one arm and guided her to the side. “I know we're all worried about my elder brother, Princess Ember's representative,” he bowed his head to her as Cynthia snorted, “but arguing right now won't do any good.”

“It certainly won't,” Bram said. The agents were staying silent. Maybe they figured the local dragon experts should handle this. He bowed his head – well, nodded – to Ember. “Would her majesty be so kind as to tell us what she wants to do about this?”

Ember looked from him to Tephra and Cynthia. She sighed and seemed to shrink. He wondered what she was so tense about. “Very well. I apologize,” it sounded like that word came hard, “to all of you for how I've been acting. I, I have much on my mind right now. Like helping my representative Volcano.” She leaned back against the wall, arms folded over her chest. “How is he even being sued? I thought human law said that diplomats couldn't be?” She looked at Bram when she said that. When he looked startled, Ember said, “Volcano said you were the one I could trust here.”

Okay, he thought, looks like I'm nominated as her scaly majesty's temporary advisor.

“Well, he's not the one being sued, Ember – Princess Ember.,” Bram hurriedly added. “The Clinic is, but it's being sued partly because of what Volcano did back at the New Whelp party a few weeks back.”

“And that is?” Ember watched him suspiciously as first Bram, and then Cynthia and Tephra, filled her in on the events of the party. When they were done she snorted. “Ugh, it's worse than I'd been told! Volcano sent me a scroll about it, and he mentioned all of you, but he made the problems with those fool humans sound like they were finished. I thought they went to jail?” She scowled at Agent Kingman. “Or can humans threaten to kill dragons for a joke and get away with it?”

“Yes, they were in jail, but right now their ringleader is out on bail. And his father has his law firm working appeals for him to keep him out,” Bram quickly said. “They're also the ones suing the clinic. Volcano is named as part of the reason why they're suing it, for pain and suffering and other things.”

“I'd like to give that human some pain and suffering,” Bram gulped at the angry gleam in Ember's eyes. She swung her scepter back and forth like she wanted to bash someone's head in with it. “Don't I, we, have enough problems with the Clinics and the Veil and converting everyone we can save to have to deal with lawsuits by some idiot hatchling who got what he had coming?”

Bram decided to avoid that question. He'd probably have to agree if he didn't. “Well, ma'am –“ He broke off as Ember held up a scaly finger.

“Human. Please, Either call me Ember or, better yet, Dragon Lord.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Every time one of you calls me 'Ma'am' I want to look around and see if my mother is here.”

“This might be easier if Volcano was here,” Cynthia said. Tephra behind her, wings half unfolded as though he wanted to embrace her with them. “Where is he?” She and Ember both looked to Bram.

“Probably at the courthouse for the trial,” Bram said.

“That trial, ugh,” Ember shook herself. She looked around at everyone, a nasty gleam in her eyes. “I want to know something about this human Volcano is dueling --”

“Lawsuit, ma'am – I mean Dragon Lord,” Bram hurriedly said.

“Lawsuit, duel, whatever,” Ember stalked back and forth across the floor. “They're fighting, aren't they? To see who has the right of it? That's what a duel or contest is back in the Dragonlands.” She looked smug. “Back home, they'd just test their strength and see who has the hottest fire, but nature doesn't favor you humans. You can't do any of that.” She looked at a wall poster detailing the dragon potion. “Well, not unless you join us. So you, what, decided to argue each other to death?”

Bram wanted to say that wasn't entirely true, but something warned him that arguing with Ember might not be very wise right now.

“I trust Volcano,” Ember's voice softened. Tephra puffed his chest up at hearing his big brother be praised. “He was one of the few dragons who supported me when I said we'd join in with what Celestia and the rest were doing, when our world came to this one. Why shouldn't we give humans a chance to join us, Tiamat's Children? The other dragons said we should stay out of it but not him. He aided me.” She looked at Bram. For just a moment he could see the very unhappy and tired young woman behind those eyes. “How can I abandon him now? When I was meeting your ruler at the Pale Lair –”

“White House, your majesty.” Agent Kingman said automatically.

“Whatever,” Ember snorted. “I have to help Volcano. He has to win.”

“What if he loses?” Bram wished he'd kept his mouth shut when both Tephra and Ember glared and lashed their tails in annoyance. He saw how agents Kingman and Garcia moved away from them. “I hope he does, I like him, but what if Volcano loses?”

Ember frowned and looked down at the floor. “Then I punish him. Back home. Publicly.” She turned to Tephra. He looked horrified as she said, “He loses everything he gained from over a century of work as one of our few scholars, and probably gets exiled for two or three centuries.” Cynthia looked as shocked as Bram felt. Ember must have noticed because she said, “It's not what I want. But I'd have to make it clear that he no longer has my favor. Or I'd have to pull back on the whole conversion plan, and dragonkind loses a big chance to improve itself with new blood and ideas. In the short term, it's mostly me and my supporters who'd suffer. Other dragons would oppose me openly. Stealing territory. Raiding ponies, maybe you humans if any of you still exist by then. Maybe even,” she hefted the scepter, gripped it firmly, “challenging me for the Bloodstone Scepter.” She shuddered. Bram saw Tephra did too. “Not many dragons would serve as Dragon Lord as well as I can right now. And none of them would be the ones to challenge me. It'd be all the rockheads who think being Dragon Lord is just license to pillage and burn and loot without restraint. Those old days are gone, especially when you people,” she turned from Bram to Agent Kingman and Garcia, “teach the ponies and other races how to make the tools and weapons you have.”

“No new beginning for dragons. The other races will get all of that. Maybe we get pushed even deeper into the wastelands – I've seen the weapons that could be made with human knowledge. And the just plain new numbers of ponies and griffons and Diamond Dogs and the rest, new ideas and skills and sciences and techniques for doing everything from raising food to fighting to working metal, ugh!” She clenched her fists and looked up, eyes flashing fire. “I will not lose all of that for my people because of some human fool with a grudge!” She leaned against the wall. “One of you, tell me about this human. Can we scare him or make him listen to reason?”

“Listen to reason? Mister James Branson?” Cynthia laughed, soft and cold. “The man's a snake. I remember years ago when he got an immigrant man who'd murdered a friend of mine for putting a curse on him off in court by arguing that even though we all knew better than to believe in curses, this man didn't and it'd be arrogant to punish him for being a poor simpleton from the Third World. The poor simpleton killed a friend of mine a month later because he said she put a curse on him when he worked for her. He boasted about how much trouble he made for the local police with one lawsuit after another, brags about how much he despises 'grubbing after money' while picking everyone around him clean.” Cynthia began snarling. Heated saliva dripped to the floor from her jaws and steamed when it hit. “He's a bloodsucker and a snob who pretends to be some grand champion of the people. He would burn the whole world if it meant he could virtue signal to the ashes. He doesn't care if the clinic is the last thing keeping humanity alive, He'd shut it down if it made him look good today.”

Bram carefully set a hand on Cynthia's wrist. She hissed at him before the anger left her eyes. He gave her a squeeze, arm around waist. Tephra looked jealous. Ember looked unsettled. The agents kept an air of professional unconcern.

“So where is Volcano?” Ember grumbled.

“I imagine he's still at the courthouse,” Bram checked his watch. It was past five. “Which ought to be over for the day. The local courthouse closes at four-thirty. I imagine Volcano and the clinic lawyer will both be here soon.”

As though he'd spoken a spell, a call came through to Agent Kingman. “Yes? Okay, a large dragon just dropped down outside and wants to know what's going on. And some guy in a suit with a briefcase drove up in an old compact and asked the same thing.” He looked around the room. “They said the guy looks like Curly Howard with a fringe.”

“That's the clinic lawyer, all right,” Cynthia said. “Jerry Horowitz.”

Agent Kingman checked his phone again. “They said the dragon wants to know why everyone is standing outside in the cold when it's warmer inside, or is this another human thing that makes no sense?”

“Definitely Volcano,” Bram added.

“It's about time,” Ember pushed her way past them both and headed for the front of the clinic. The Secret Service agents hurried after her.

“Dragon Lord! We have to check those people outside.” Agent Kingman stopped in his track as Ember turned around and faced him. “Your safety is my duty, ma'am – Dragon Lord.” His mouth seemed to twist on that title. Bram wondered just how ridiculous this all felt to him.

“Human,” Ember's voice sounded tightly controlled, like she was on the verge of an explosion of temper. “I have been made to wait for you and your pack every time I so much as set feet to earth today. I have endured enough. I am the Dragon Lord,” she raised her scepter like it was a weapon. “I do not need to be protected like I was a new hatchling. Understood?” Agent Kingman simply stood there, looking as professional as he could. Ember turned and left, heading outside. They all followed after her.

Outside was an even bigger mess now. The protesters were gone, but a crowd had gathered and the single police officer and employees were still there. And so were three large dragons, all of them twenty feet long or more and standing twice a normal human's height when they sat up. Green Jade, crimson Blaze, and Volcano in his gray-streaked rust red scales. All three of the latter were frowning at the Secret Service and FBI agents as they stood around them, both trying to keep the curious onlookers away from the rarely-seen adult dragons where they sat in the street before the clinic and to keep the dragons clear of them. Local cops were there now as well, trying to maneuver post-day shift rush hour traffic around the huge reptiles. They had just enough space to work around them, slowly. The honking of horns and yells coming from the drivers showed how little they appreciated it. To Bram's further dismay, a local TV news team stood close by filming the whole thing. They looked like vultures waiting for a corpse to drop.

"What are they doing here?"

"Three adult Equestrian dragons in this town?" Cynthia shrugged. "They must have seen them flying over, or got called, and wanted to cover whatever excitement was brewing." She frowned. "Ember wants to make it look like Equestrian dragons are civilized beings,” she muttered under her breath. “I just hope she told those three that.”

One driver cut it a bit close to Jade. He yelled several words at her, none of them polite. Jade seemed to ignore him, but as he started driving away her tail smashed across the back bumper of his compact. Metal crunched and plastic broke. He drove off in great hurry, sporting a massive dent.

Jade tilted her head back and gave a smug smile. One of the police officers looked ready to say something, but at a warning head shake from an older officer backed down. The other drivers made sure to swing wide around her and go very slowly. Bram didn't need to look to see that the news crew caught it all.

Ember's voice rose nearby, joined by a prissy-sounding human one with that Bronx accent and the much deeper voice of Volcano. He turned to see Ember talking up to her giant subject. He in turn lowered his head at her and the Bloodstone Scepter. Meanwhile Mister Horowitz stood nearby, waving a bundle of papers from his suitcase. He turned to face both Ember and Volcano, limping slightly.

“Miss Ember, you realize it's not a very smart idea for you to come and put yourself into this case? I mean,” he hurriedly backed away as Ember's bodyguards and Volcano showed fang at him, hands held close like he clutched a string of pearls, “at this point in the trial, it's not likely to go well. Bringing in new character witnesses, I mean. Everything was close to being wrapped up.”

“He means we are about to lose, Dragon Lord,” Volcano rumbled in his slow and deliberate way of speech. Mister Horowitz fidgeted as he added, “The human whelp Branson and his father's lawspeakers are beating us badly.”

“It's a very clear case, your majesty,” Horowitz sounded weak. Ember stood with claws on hips and her lip quivering over her canines. Horowitz gulped, but she just nodded for him to continue. Still looking green about the gills Horowitz said, “Mister Branson's son was injured by Mister Volcano. There were eyewitnesses. Mister Volcano is a representative of the clinic as well as of you. He can't be sued since he's a foreign citizen here as an official Dragonlands representative,” Horowitz took a deep breath, “but the clinic can be. Mister Branson is basically asking for all its assets and he may well force it to close.”

“How can he do that? Sorry,” Bram said as Horowitz, Volcano, and Ember all gave him annoyed looks. “Branson's kid faked a terrorist attack and nearly blinded Volcano. More, it worked as cover for a real attack on the clinic's supply of dragon potions.”

“Just because you're a criminal doesn't mean you can't file a lawsuit,” Horowitz primly noted. “He has the same legal rights as everyone else. And the case is mainly in Mister Branson, Senior's, name. He's not in any legal trouble.”

“Never mind!” Ember snapped, slapping the Bloodstone Scepter into her scaly palm with a loud SMACK! “If Volcano's honor and integrity is being questioned, then so is mine. If it was a duel, I'd fight in it and gladly. I'll talk at this trial tomorrow and settle everything.” She said it like it was that simple.

Bram caught the worried look on the faces on Cynthia, Mister Horowitz, and even Volcano.

Something told him they'd all just made a very big mistake.

Dragons and Courtrooms

The next day at the courthouse proved him right in the worst way.

The night before everything was a rush. Bram heard afterwards from Cynthia and Tephra, who'd accompanied her, how the Secret Service finally got Ember into the best suite at the Historic Hotel Bethlehem. It was a bit far from the clinic and the Allentown courthouse, but they were the best accommodations in the area. Cynthia told Bram later how Blaze and Jade growled at everyone, terrorizing the staff, and Ember sniffed at the excessive by dragon standards luxury of the place, but they finally got everyone settled in. Only then did Cynthia and Tephra return to his house to get some sleep themselves before they went along with Ember and Volcano to the courthouse tomorrow.

Next morning they got a phone call from one of Ember's minders before dawn, telling them to get up and dressed and to the court. Between a quick breakfast and the dragons scrubbing themselves down with the hottest water they had and everyone getting dressed in their best they left the house at 7 AM, roughly an hour before the court opened.

Tephra's attire didn't reassure them at all. Bram stared in shock as Cynthia gasped. “Tephra, you can't be serious!”

“What?” He stood before them in a suit of barbaric-looking iron armor. Sturdy vambraces on his forearms, something like a combed morion on his head, greaves on his legs and a dull-shining breast-and-back plate covering his torso. It looked rough and sturdy. “I was told to dress formally.”

“That's what you call formal?” Bram shook his head. “It looks like something to wear to a LARP or if you acted in a fantasy movie.”

“To a what?” Tephra shook his head. He thumped his fist against the breastplate. It gave a hollow thud. “This IS formal for dragons. I forged the steel with my own flames, shaped it to my body with my own claws, fought against other dragons to make sure I'd done it right. Dragon Lord Ember will be wearing her armor when she speaks. I'd insult her and my elder brother if I showed up in anything less than my best.” He ended with his arms folded across his chest and head held high, the very image of affronted dignity.

For her part Cynthia wore a loose sort of backless dress to give room for her wings. To Bram's mind it looked a trifle slinky but maybe everyone would be too focused on Tephra and Ember to think much of it. As they walked out to his new van something else occurred to him.

“Is Mister Horowitz going to call any of the other New Whelps in to defend Volcano? I mean, there's Tama and Afu, if they're still in the country.”

Cynthia shook her head. “They didn't go back to their island, but they're pretty wrapped up dealing with their boys. I think Afu's having trouble with his still-human wives.” At Tephra's confused look she said, “They were, are, Samoan. Afu's a chief and he has something like five or six wives with him in the US. He and Tama came here for medical help. Nothing could be done so when the clinics opened?” She stretched one scaly arm, letting the dawn's light play along her black and golden scales.

Bram scowled and thought.

“There's Napalm.”

Cynthia shook herself. “I doubt anyone at this court would be impressed if a Vietnam Vet calling himself Napalm spoke up for Volcano. Especially not Mister Branson,” she snarled. “He was big with the anti-war crowd until they weren't a popular enough cause any more. We'd better stick with who we have.” After that no more words as they drove down one highway and up this road past first fields and trees and then stores and finally office buildings with stone columns out front and finally stopped at one of brick and white stone that looked to be almost two hundred years old. Secret Service vans and limos waited outside, their drivers alert and all dressed in Agent Kingman's style of business casual. Past them in a small green field set beside the courthouse normally used for court personnel on lunch breaks a canvas tarp was set. Beneath it stood Volcano and Ember's two bodyguards. Much like Tephra, they wore solid-looking iron-plate armor. Only a few people were around at this early hour, nearly all of them either police or in business clothes. Down the street either way a pair of vendors had food carts. They steered far wide of the three huge dragons.

“Let's greet your brother, Tephra.” Cynthia and Tephra got out and headed for the three large dragons. Tephra moved with a slow dignity Bram never saw him use before. He also noticed how the food vendors watched all three of them. He wondered if they were Secret Service people in plainclothes. He hoped they wouldn't be needed.

“Tephra. Cynthia. Bram,” Volcano rumbled as they walked up to him on the still-wet with dew grass. He lowered his muzzle to touch noses with Tephra and Cynthia. Bram nodded his politest. “I am glad to see you. None of this is going well.”

“If you were wise enough to bite the Branson-whelp's head off when he near blinded you,” Jade said, an angry hissing undertone in her voice, “none of this would be happening.” Volcano lifted his head high and glared as Jade added, “You could have paid whatever weregild his pack demanded and no more trouble about it. If the Dragon Lord is humiliated, it is on your head.”

Bram wondered what dragon words lay in back of 'weregild', both as word and concept. As he did Cynthia spoke up.

“Miss Jade,” Cynthia looked up at the big dragoness. Jade ignored her. Cynthia lashed her tail in annoyance but stayed polite. “We're here to speak in Volcano's defense. We know he's a decent and honorable dragon.” She set her hand on his near leg by the knee. “We'll make everyone else realize that as well.”

Jade looked at her and sniffed. Her gaze swept to the side and focused on Bram. He felt a chill as her gaze hardened on him.

“You! You are the human who was there the night this happened, are you not?” Feeling uneasy, he nodded. Jade really did frown then, ugly and angry and full of sharp fangs.

“He means yes,” Volcano said quickly. He set one claw down by Bram, keeping it in Jade's line of sight. “When the humans move their head like that, it means they agree. He was not disrespecting you by refusing to answer.”

Jade didn't look at him. Behind her Blaze moved a few steps closer. Bram wondered if he was supporting his fellow bodyguard or just eager to see what happened. Jade kept her eyes on him, a cold fire burning in them.

“You. Volcano told us of what happened in his scroll to the Dragon Lord.” She rose on all fours, heavy muscles working smoothly under her scales. “You stood there when the Branson-whelp made his joke.” She spat the last word, lowered her muzzle to look him in the face. Bram caught sight of his reflection in her bright green eyes. He looked very small in them. “You did nothing to stop this.” He saw both Tephra and Cynthia opening their mouths, in protest he hoped. Volcano waved them both to silence. “The Dragon Lord, instructor Volcano, all dragons, may be disgraced because of what you have done.” Jade's voice was tight with self-control. “Scaleless, fireless, honorless thing who failed a dragon foolish enough to trust you, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Bram look up at her, took a deep breath, and said, “First of all, sit back. I don't need you breathing in my face.”

Jade's eyes widened, and she pulled back. Just a little. Not so much that a snap of those jaws wouldn't chop him in half, though.

“Secondly,” Bram held up a finger, “Secondly, madam, I did what seemed best at the time when I thought my friends' lives were in danger. Which I will gladly say when and if I am called to the stand to testify. I had no way of knowing that Branson and his idiots were pulling a prank. Third,” he took a deep breath, “in the future, if you don't want people to be impolite with you, then keep your insults to yourself. Or is this how honorable dragons speak to each other?” He looked at Volcano where he sat, looking perfectly calm. “Master Volcano taught his students differently.”

For several moments Jade looked him in the eyes. Hot dragon breath blasted over him, reeking of sulphur. Bram put his hands in his pockets in feigned unconcern. No one, human or dragon, said anything.

“Hah!” Jade sat back on her haunches and laughed. It echoed and re-echoed from the office buildings along the street. “You know how to speak, at least. Maybe Volcano's cause isn't hopeless after all.” She snorted and snapped, “But still better if you'd broken that fool whelp's neck for him.” Blaze, Volcano, even Tephra, all nodded if a trifle reluctantly.

Bram exchanged a look with Cynthia. She shook her head but he fancied she looked a trifle less disgusted than she might have a few months ago when she was still human. I like Volcano and Tephra, they're decent and honorable people in their way. But they're still dragons.

“Better you all go inside now,” Volcano shifted to stand by an open window set high in the courthouse wall. He looked in, saying, “They are opening the courtroom now. I have to stand here when I speak for the clinic and myself.”

“That is insulting,” Jade said, squatting back on her haunches and forelegs folded across her scaly chest. “The humans need to build bigger courtrooms. They are as ill-mannered in making buildings as the ponies.”

“I'll tell them to remember that for the next courthouse, ma'am,” Bram turned and strolled away to the courthouse doors. “Judging from this they may need to build dragon-size courts.” Volcano rumbled something like a laugh and Jade growled behind him as he and the others walked to the courtroom.

Outside a small crowd already stood. Ember was recognizable, blue scales, gold and crimson scepter, and shining golden-plated armor. Mister Horowitz stood beside her along with a pink-coated and green-maned unicorn he'd never seen, her cutie mark a set of the scales of justice. Probably the Equestrian legal liaison. Not for the first time Bram wondered how it was that the Equestrian species shared so many symbols and ideas in common with humanity. The Secret Service agents were trying to keep the area around Ember clear. Reporters with mikes and cameras and curious onlookers pressed close enough to make that difficult. Ember was speaking to one of the reporters, a dark-haired woman he'd seen on the evening news once or twice. Her downward-curving horns wagged as she spoke.

“Why shouldn't I come here to defend one of my dragons if they're unfairly attacked?” Ember held one claw out. With the other she held the Bloodstone Scepter close. “What good is a Dragon Lord who won't stand by her flight?”

Before she could say more someone standing nearby spoke up. Bram had never seen them before, but to judge by the styled gray hair and a suit that looked to cost more than most people he knew made in six months, he guessed this to be Mister Branson. Standing beside him was Branson the younger, blonde hair and dark eyes full of nasty joy and looking much more sure of himself than the last time Bram saw him, pinned under a dragon's claw and about to be hauled away by the cops. Standing close by were several husky fellows in suits who had the same sort of ex-military look as Agent Kingman.

“I am certain that this – woman, thinks she is in the right,” Mister Branson said in the sort of orator's voice most politicians wished they possessed. Ember folded her arms and glared. His tone smooth and elegant and all but screaming 'trust and obey me, you peasant', he added, “But as Americans, we cannot let barely-civilized foreign governments treat us like we were some of their downtrodden subjects...”

“WHAT?”

He smoothly stepped behind his bodyguards as Ember wheeled on him. They put hands under their outer coats to their armpits. The Secret Service glared, but not until Branson gave a little shake of his head did they back off. Ember ignored them to snarl, “Did you call us 'barely-civilized'?” Ember slapped the Bloodstone Scepter against one scaly palm. “Dragonkind have been ruled by the Dragon Lords for over ten thousand years! Our history, our culture, goes back even further! Show me one of your 'great nations' that can boast as much!” She set her muzzle back, looking proud, only to ruin it a moment later as cameras flared in her face. She shot flame out over their heads. The cameramen backed off. “Stop flashing those things in my eyes!”

“So,” Branson said, with a look in his eyes like a fencer about to score a point, “are you saying that age is the only thing that makes a civilization great? Tell me again, how many cities does your 'nation' have? How many centers of art and culture and learning?” Ember shifted uneasily as he added, making sure the cameras caught the scornful look on his face, “How many social programs for the less fortunate?”

“Huh?” Ember blinked and looked like a child caught off guard in class by the teacher. Cynthia hissed a warning as Ember said, “Well... None, yet. Dragons stand on their own. Celestia and Cadance suggested them, but the other dragons don't want...”

“You don't even help your own kind when they're in trouble.” Branson turned to the reporters. His face was filled with what might be called a noble pity ruined only slightly by the smug undertone to his voice. “You come here dressed in gold while your people wear nothing. These are the, I suppose I must say people, we are allowing to decide the future of humanity. And she won't even tell the truth about The List and The Cure.”

“Are you crazy? Those are lies!” Ember looked shocked. “I, the other rulers from Equestria and we, we'd never allow human governments to tell us who we can and can't, what is that word,” she closed her eyes tight, brow furrowed in concentration. before snapping her claws, “Ha! Upgrade into new members of our races. We tell them what to do. And there is no 'Cure'!” Ember might have pleaded if not for the anger in her voice and eyes. “The Veil comes! It cannot be stopped! It cannot be fought, by dragonfire or magic or words! You must convert or die, it's that simple!”

Bram choked and heard Cynthia's “Oh, no,” beside him. Tephra looked at them in confusion.

“What?” His voice carried through the hallway. Bram groaned as reporters began hurrying closer at the sight of the dragons, mikes extended and cameras at the ready. Tephra lifted his head high to look at Ember over them. Beside her both the unicorn and Mister Horowitz looked ready to choke as she nodded while he said, “It's the truth. Like my brother Volcano says, humans either join dragons or some other species or they die when the Veil comes. It's that simple.”

“Join us or die,” Mister Branson made his voice cold. “You usually hear that phrase in bad movies. Not real life. And definitely not from people who say they're civilized. Or friends.”

“Yeah, an' that's one of those scaly monsters that said he wanted ta kill me!” Branson junior pointed at Tephra, who promptly growled back at him. He stepped further back among the bodyguards. “After I defended myself against that big monster by spraying some mace in his eyes to, like, nonviolently protect myself. He's a monster!”

“MONSTER?!?” Cynthia grabbed Tephra as he lunged forward. She held him back as Tephra snarled at the frat boy, “You threw a bomb into our party and almost blinded my brother!”

“Bomb? It was just a bunch a' fireworks!” Branson Junior extended his middle finger in Tephra's direction. Bram wondered if the dragon even knew what that gesture meant. It was answered as Tephra redoubled his roars and tried to get past Cynthia. Cameramen maneuvered for the best shots as the idiot kid added, “You lizards need a sense of humor! This is, like, America, we make fun of everybody!” Having aired his opinion he dropped behind his father and the bodyguards, peering over their shoulders.

Ember flew up into the air, over the crowd, and began roaring abuse at both Bransons.

“You miserable ungrateful beasts! Diamond Dogs have more sense than you!”

Cynthia got between Tephra and the reporters, opening her wings and spreading them to cover his face. She grabbed his muzzle to try keeping it shut. As he yelped Bram hurried past them to the Dragon Lord. One of the Secret Service men tried to stop him, but subsided at a glance from Agent Kingman. Apparently they saw him as the dragon expert. Bram stopped right under the low-hovering Ember. He reached up, snatched her tail and yanked. Normally it would have done nothing but she was caught off guard. Shocked, she dropped to the floor, landing on her feet.

“Lady Ember!” Bram grabbed her by one of her horns. She blinked in shock as he said, “You want to make everyone understand that dragons aren't murderous savages and the clinics can be trusted!” He waved a hand from her to Cynthia and Tephra and covered the eager media in between, ignoring how the rage in her crimson eyes was now entirely focused on him. “This is not helping!”

“YOU...” Her claw shot around his throat. He grabbed it with both his hands and pried at it. It was like wrestling an iron statue. Two of the Secret Service agents joined in, grabbing Ember's wrist and accomplishing as little as he did. Bram gasped for oxygen and got nothing. Something like thunder started to sound in his head. He felt someone grabbing him from behind and try to pull him away.

“And that savage says her monsters are nonviolent.” Somehow Branson's voice cut through all the mayhem in the court, people yelling and Ember snarling and the Secret Service commanding her to let go of him, Ma'am, this is poor behavior for visiting heads of state. “She, it, says we have a choice and tells us to change or die. It says it offers us a better way and brags how her monsters allow their own to die without help. And this is what our government expects us to trust! I say we shut those clinics down now while there's a human race left to save!”

Those words got Ember's attention if nothing else did. She let go of Bram's throat. As he sagged back, dragged by Agent Kingman, she shot into the air and gave a roar that echoed and re-echoed from the halls. Everyone fell silent as she spat her words out.

“I wish my dragons Volcano and Tephra had killed your whelp, human! I hope you do close the Clinics, I'd love to be here to laugh when the Veil kills all you ungrateful fireless vermin!” Dragon Lord Ember glared around at them all, her eyes coals in her face and fangs bared. “I have submitted myself to human nonsense for long enough. Volcano!” Her voice boomed. Bram looked to the window and saw Volcano's face there. Whatever he felt, his yellow eyes showed nothing as Ember said, “Jade! Blaze! Tephra, New Whelp Cynthia,” she looked to Bram's friends as she waved the Bloodstone Scepter in command. The gemstone glowed incandescent, a light akin to the one he saw leap up in Tephra and Cynthia's eyes as Ember said, “We are leaving this place of insults. Now!”

Before anyone could say anything, all of the dragons, big and small, took to wing. With a crash Ember shattered the main windows of the courthouse foyer leading out to the street. People scattered as glass rained down.

Her dragons following, the furious Dragon Lord raced into the late morning sky and vanished into it.

Bram slumped, gasping, as Agent Kingman let go of him. The agent got on his phone and began talking into it rapidly. As he did, Bram looked at Horowitz nearby. The lawyer mopped his brow.

“You know something?” He said as calmly as though nothing had happened while everyone seemed to be talking or yelling at once all around them. “This ain't making winning this case any easier.”

#

The excitement at the courthouse slowly calmed after Ember and her dragons left. The Secret Service hurried out after her, with Agent Kingman commenting into his earpiece again that Dragon Lady was flying off somewhere with her entourage so keep your eyes open, for pete's sake, because they're not cooperating at all. Half the journalists left, maybe hoping Ember would kill someone outside and spike the nights ratings, while the rest hurried into the courtroom after Branson Senior. No one besides a hurriedly called human EMT paid any attention to him, and she told him he was mostly fine. An Earth pony was with her, with a red cross cutie mark on her honey-brown flank. The Earth pony did the initial exam, checking him carefully while using their hooves.

Inside the courtroom proper Bram could hear the case going forward. Or at least everyone was talking. Mister Horowitz was trying nobly to argue that his witnesses had been distraught, your honor, and really could you blame them given the severe provocation? Mister Branson's team of attorneys countered that being upset didn't excuse public vandalism, refusing to appear for court, or attempted murder.

He twisted and turned so much to hear more as he was examined that finally the Earth pony stomped one hoof.

“Sit still! Or do you want to be restrained?” They went back to gently feeling his throat. Bram felt something like a warm pulse from the pony's frog, the soft fleshy part of the hoof almost vibrating as they checked him. The pony noticed his attention. “Earth ponies are connected to life, or so they told me before I changed,” she shrugged and tossed her head and buzzcut mane. “I'm learning how to feel internal injuries. Er, all you have are some bruises.” The mare looked at the windows and shuddered. "Count your blessings. What was that 'List' and 'Cure' that got the scaly so upset?"

"The List's supposed to be a set of names and groups of people that Earth's governments asked Equestria to not change," Bram gasped out. "The Cure is supposed to be some really expensive treatment that lest you live through the Veiil's coming while staying human. They're both lies, but they're all over the Internet and media. How did you miss them?" The mare shrugged. Bram looked at the human EMT. "Am I really okay? No permanent damage?"

“You might have taken some brain damage from the loss of oxygen,” the senior EMT finished checking his throat. He winced at her touch. He still felt tender and to judge from the darkening claw-shaped bruises she showed him courtesy of a mirror, he'd feel that way for a while. “Given the way you behaved you have few enough brain cells to lose. I'd advise against grabbing a dragon's tail again. From what we saw on the way over we'll be having enough problems this week without your repeat business on top of it.”

“What?” Bram felt a new wave of worry. “What problems?”

“You'll be going back to that Clinic, won't you?” The human frowned when she said it. She and her pony partner began packing up. “You'll see when you get there.”

Bram did when he arrived. The small crowd of protesters was back with reinforcements. There were twenty of them now. They looked to be a mixed bag, some dressed in what looked like clothes from thrift stores and some in better attire, white and black and brown and other shades, men and women. He did notice that most of them looked to be young, college age. The one thing they all shared in common were looks of deep outrage aimed at the clinic. They were on the sidewalk for now, and the usually-open door of the clinic was shut. Three Allentown police officers stood in front of it, together with Agents Fitzgerald and Linden. To his deeper worry the police wore protective vests and hard helmets. Not quite riot gear, but close.

The signs waved were even less reassuring. SEND THE MONSTERS HOME was the mildest. Others read END SECRECY ADMIT THE LIST and DRAGONSLAYER. The latter had a photo of Ember with her eyes crudely crossed out and a cross-hairs over her face.

“I assume they're not fans,” Bram muttered as he parked a few blocks away on a still quiet residential street. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized or have his van within easy reach of this gang. He headed for the clinic, sticking to back streets. Along the way he saw a few locals scurrying along. Bram kept going, ignoring the way they flinched away from him. He hoped their fears would prove as overblown as his.

Even if he hadn't seen the mob on the way in he could hear their chanting as he got closer to the building. “TRUTH NOW! TRUTH NOW! TRUTH NOW!” Many voices working as one, as their owners gave up their individuality to the mob mind. It's not going to take much to set these people off, he thought as he carefully tried one of the back doors. It was thick and solid, made of heavy sheet steel, and utterly refused to budge. There was only one other door.

He slowly walked down the alley to the front of the building. The bee-like buzzing of voices started to become more distinct as he got closer. He could make out individuals as he got closer. A young woman with multi-colored hair yelling accusations at the closed clinic door. A black man, beard bristling and anger in his eyes as he waved a banner with ASK ABOUT THE LIST on it. A white guy, gray hair tied back in a long ponytail and looking like a college professor in a threadbare suit. Still more, young and old, all the races of humanity, men and women alike, angry and scared. Bram carefully worked his way around the edges of the crowd. They all seemed focused on the clinic and the cops standing there. No one did more than glance at him. It wouldn't take much to turn this gang into a mob and he didn't want to be the one standing there when – “TRAITOR!”

Oh God. Bram looked around frantically. Every single picture he'd ever seen of mob violence surged to the forefront of his mind, the broken and trampled bodies with smiling men and women standing over their victims. Nowhere to run, nothing to use in defense, dear God they'd stamp the life out of him – Gray Ponytail and the rest surged past him without a glance.

“Traitors! Turning on humanity!” The young couple at the door stepped back, trying to put the police between them and the mob. Bram caught sight of a pegasus pony he vaguely remembered seeing around the clinic together with her still-human husband. He recalled that the guy was a dentist, his parents from India. His eyes were wide with fear as he tried to keep himself between the protesters and the white coated with pale-blue mane pegasus mare with him. The mob surged forward, but not very hard. They still feared the cops there. “Traitors!”

“You've embraced your own oppression!” Gray Ponytail called again. Definitely a college prof. No normal human being would talk like that. He waved his sign like a war club. “You're ashamed of your own kind! For shame!”

“Someone should go in there and stop all this!” Another protester yelled, who looked very unwilling to do the job himself.

“Yes, someone!” The others yelled. Bram wondered how much longer before someone became us.

And inspiration struck.

“I'll do it!” He yelled, snatching up a sign someone had dropped. Maybe they called the protest off early to go watch a movie or the like. Everyone turned to look at him. He gulped and, waving the sign overhead like a barbarian's axe, headed for the door. “Aside, everyone!” As he yelled the pegasus and her husband hurried down the street to a van, got in and left. “I'm ready to take my chances with those aliens! I'm not afraid of them!” Cries rose as he stormed forward through the mob.

“Who's that man?”

“A hero for humanity!” Gray Ponytail yelled. Bram noticed he was staying well back from the police and agents as he yelled, “Go get them, son! Humanity needs martyrs!”

Bram felt a chill as someone began saying, “Wait, isn't that the guy from the Internet blog who lives with the scalies?”

“Up humanity!” Bram yelled. He dredged his memory for more slogans. "Tippecanoe and Tyler too! Forty-four forty or fight!" The crowd cheered but showed no desire to share in his moment of glory as he made his way to the police line. Before him stood a sour-faced officer.

“Don't even try it,” the officer sounded bored. He put his hand on what looked like a canister of pepper spray and tapped it lightly in emphasis. Bram guessed this wasn't the first protest he'd seen.

“I wasn't even thinking of it.” He dropped the sign and stepped over to Agent Linden. That sunglassed face looked implacable. Bram said, “You remember me, right? My house, earlier today? My dragon roomie had some blonde in his, I mean my bedroom, and you found them together --”

“He's safe,” Agent Linden said quickly. He set a finger to his earbud. “He's here. Yeah, the one that got choked. I'll send him in.” As the crowd began realizing they'd been tricked, they started cursing and booing.

“LIAR!” The cries rose behind. “TRAITOR! You'll get yours!”

“Morons,” Bram retorted as the door opened. Agent Kingman stood there. Bram stopped right in front of it to turn and raise his middle finger in the direction of the crowd. He smirked at them as their yells redoubled.

Childish, maybe, but it felt satisfying.

A moment later he ducked as garbage sailed at him. Empty bottles and assorted junk hit the front windows of the clinic, shaking them ominously. Before he could antagonize anyone else Agent Kingman dragged him inside.

“In the future,” he snapped as soon as the door shut, dimming the racket from outside, “I hope you can restrain your impulse to personal expression. Otherwise I'll leave you out there.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” Bram felt himself start shivering. He forced it down and looked around the office. It seemed oddly empty. Usually there would be at least one or two people in there examining the literature or waiting for someone to finish their conversion inside, maybe a local reporter if there hadn't been enough scandals or accidents this week that a human, or formerly-human, interest story might fill some time. Today the carpeted office stood silent, the pictures on the walls, an array of Equestrian and Pennsylvania landscapes looking down on nothing. Photos of Celestia and the other Equestrian rulers on the wall behind the main desk smiled benevolently down on emptiness.

“Mister Bram?” Nightshade came around the desk. Her ears were pinned and her lip seemed to be quivering over her fangs. She scraped the floor nervously with one forehoof as she stopped in front of him. Finely groomed and braided tail lashing against her sides, she rose up on her hind legs to look into his face. “Thank Luna you're here in one piece! When the Dragon Lord and Mister Volcano and the rest of the dragons didn't come back after that mess at the courthouse, ve vondered what happened to you...”

“Huh? You know about the courthouse?” Bram looked from her to Agent Kingman. He looked as stoic as ever. “And where are Ember and the dragons?”

“Most likely, they are at her hotel suite,” Kingman said as he ushered Bram past Nightshade and towards the back rooms. Another agent stood in the room, business suit but no dark glasses or earbud, probably another local FBI man. “Agent de Vaca, you stay out here to keep an eye on that door and on Miss Nightshade,” She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at agent de Vaca. He looked nervous. As they passed him Agent Kingman said, “You'll be fine. She won't eat you.”

“Don't be too sure of that,” Nightshade purred out as they went into the actual exam rooms and offices. Bram caught sight of a few frightened faces looking out of various offices. The clinic's usual security detail or at least the ones left after purging Iron Wing's supporters among them openly had weapons at their waists. Tasers and pistols on the humans, heavy bladed sabatons for the ponies among them, and all of them looking tense.

“It's that bad?” Bram asked uneasily as they walked into the director's office.

“For some of you it's even worse,” Agent Kingman nodded at Agent Garcia. She stood beside Director Apple as the mare spoke on a headset phone. She sounded tired and to judge by her frazzled mane felt worse.

“Well, when will she be back? Will she at least turn that scepter off and let Mister Volcano go? It's off but she commanded them to stay with her. Ember thinks dragons have been insulted terribly and demands an apology. And she refuses to let any of her subjects be abused more.” She took a deep steadying breath. “Is the Dragon Lord aware that she won't be getting an apology from these people? And that Miss Stoltz isn't one of her subjects. Oh. Cynthia's telling you all that. In detail. I thought I heard her voice in the background.”

“Cynthia told me she didn't like that magical mind control stuff Equestria seems infested with,” Bram said. Agent Kingman didn't respond, so he added, “Are any of your people there with them? I'm worried about Cynthia,” he added, apologetic.

“That is my concern, sir, not yours,” Agent Kingman checked his cell phone. “However, if it will reassure you, then yes, the hotel team is in place. And to judge by their comments, witnessing an argument. Miss Stoltz has been calling Dragon Lord Ember some very inventive and for my money perfectly honest names at the moment. Dragon Lord Ember has been ordering her to be silent but isn't using that magic wand of hers --”

“Bloodstone Scepter.” Bram felt his face color as Agent Kingman turned a calmly disapproving gaze on him. “Er, that's what the dragons call it. It can control them, apparently.”

“I see.” Agent Kingman was perfectly deadpan. He turned back to his cell. “Volcano hasn't been happy either, or his brother. Ember's two bodyguards Jade and Blaze are growling at them. The agents are asking me what to do in case a fight breaks out between them.” He held the phone close to his mouth and said two words, “What do you do? Your jobs.”

Swift Aid set her phone down with a sigh, only for it to ring again almost instantly. She groaned and put it back on. “Hello, who – Mister Branson?!? I'm not sure we should be speaking right now – oh?” A look of wary hope went over her face. “Really? Why, yes, yes! I'm sure the Dragon Lord will do that! For the good of interdimensional and interspecies relations. Yes, it'll happen!” She hung it up and looked around at everyone with a big smile. “Good news, the lawsuit is finished!”

“Really?” Bram blinked in confusion. The agents seemed to relax. “That is -- unexpected.”

“Just one condition,” Swift Aid said. “Ember has to apologize to him, formally, for her words at the courthouse and for Volcano's actions at the New Whelp party. He wants it in public, and in front of the clinic. And tomorrow.” Bram remembered what Ember said about her need to save face before the other dragons, how uneasy the crown of Dragon Lord sat on her head. As he felt relief that he wouldn't be the one asking her to humble herself like this Swift Aid looked at him, gave a nervous smile, and said, “Er, Bram, you know Princess Ember far better than I do. I was thinking, maybe you could ask her to do that?” She sighed, looking down. “It's this or he doubles the amount asked for in the lawsuit.”

Bram stared in shocked disbelief. He heard one of the agents mutter, “Guess it all flows downhill in Magic Ponyland too.” Before he could say something Swift Aid innocently looked at the wall of her office. Bram's eyes followed hers. His gaze fell on a poster showing a large clock over the planet Earth with the Veil behind it under the words, You Have Less Time Than You Think.

“I'll do it,” he said, wondering if he'd get to learn how hot Ember's fire was when she breathed it into his face. "I'm nuts, but I'll do it." He muttered to himself, “At least this can't get any worse.”

Bram's phone went off. Everyone there, human and pony alike, scowled at him.

“My apologies,” he said as he slipped out into the hall. He went into the bathroom and answered. “Yes?”

“You're that guy from the lizard trial,” the answer came. Bram frowned. This person sounded vaguely familiar. “The one with the lizard girlfriend. The backstabber who wants humanity to die.”

“What?” Bram frowned at the phone. “Listen, whoever you are...”

“No, traitor, you listen.” Whoever was speaking sounded excited, nervous. They rushed through their words. “I'm the man who's going to do what needs doing. I'm the guy who's going to blow those monsters sky high. I'm gonna show the rest of them – that sun horse, the cat-bird monsters, the dog people – that they can't mess with humanity. I'm going to be a hero.”

Great, Bram thought, a paranoid wackjob who got my phone number. That or a prankster. “Okay, hero, how did you find out my number?”

“We know everything about you,” he said in a tone of psychotic cheeriness. Bram's blood ran cold as the voice went on, listing one after another, “Your phone number. Your home address. That beat-up van you ferry those monsters around in when you're not at the genocide clinic. Some real friends of humanity posted all that at Tommy Branson's blog for everyone to see.” The speaker giggled, shrill and high-pitched. “We're gonna fix you and the other traitors.”

“Listen to me,” Bram hurried the words out. He hoped this was a prank. “I've got a Secret Service agent in the next room. Agent Kingman knows how to handle people like you if you try anything –”

“Agent Kingman!” They sounded truly cheery now, even happy. “I know Agent Kingman! He's my friend, he always listens to me! Hey, put him on, I wanna tell him how I'm doing!”

Wondering what sort of lunacy he'd stepped into, Bram walked back into the office. As he did Director Apple set the phone down. The mare's mane hung limp and her ears were pinned back.

“More bad news. Cynthia got some calls from people saying that they got her number and yours off the Internet. She phoned me, said she wanted to fly back to your home to make sure no one was wrecking the place. But she's worried what will happen with Ember and the rest if she leaves. We called the police, but they're apparently very busy with calls right now...”

“There's more.” Bram held his phone out to Agent Kingman. “I've got some guy here says he knows you and that he wants to kill Ember. I think he's full of it,” tinny squawking came from Bram's phone, “but maybe you better hear it for yourself.”

Agent Kingman took the phone. “This is Agent Kingman. Who am I speaking – oh. Mister Dishnot. Yes, I was supposed to be checking up on you but I'm afraid I got a little busy.” Bram heard more of the excited chatter from the phone. Agent Kingman stood little straighter and a commanding snap entered his voice. “Mister Dishnot, don't you do any such a thing. I assure you whatever minor fame you get won't be worth it. Look, talk with me and maybe – hello? Mister Dishnot?” He checked the phone and swore mildly. “Damn. He's hung up.”

“Well?” Bram took his phone back. “Is he someone we have to worry about?”

“Right now? Yes.” Agent Kingman handed the phone back. Bram felt dread creep along his spine as he said, “Like I said earlier, I've been keeping an eye on Mister Dishnot for a few years. He's a paranoid with a martyr complex – wants to die doing something important so everyone who knew him will be sorry they didn't treat the Great Hero better. And he has the skills to do something nasty; started out doing demolitions and did EOD in the Army before getting booted for chronic insubordination.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back. “So, the Dragon Lady is having a temper tantrum and refusing to cooperate, a mad bomber is off the radar and looking to put his name in the Big Book of Famous Political Assassins, and you,” he pointed at Bram, “and your girlfriend have been doxxed, most likely by the people bringing a lawsuit against this clinic, and that seems about to result in a riot.” Bram gulped. He looked from the dismayed Ms. Apple to SAC Garcia to Agent Kingman. He just nodded. “Well, you finally figured out how much trouble you're in. Congratulations. If I were you I'd invest in a bulletproof vest and figure out how to get out of here without being seen by the mob outside that you successfully pissed off.” He walked away. “You better ask one of those police officers for an escort to your van. And stay away from your house until this is over.” He began talking to SAC Garcia and the director on how to get word to Cynthia and, more importantly, Ember.

Bram sank in a nearby chair, wondering how he'd even get out the door. He remembered the offer to become a dragon from Volcano a few weeks ago on the night this all started. Why didn't I accept it then? Dragons don't have to be afraid of angry jerks with signs, heck even most normal explosives or guns wouldn't bother them...

Wait. Why NOT be a dragon, at least for a few days? Long enough for all this to blow over?

“Director Apple, I think I have a way to get word to the Dragon Lord and to get myself out of here without getting mobbed.” He stood up as both humans and the Earth pony turned to look at him, her confused and them annoyed and maybe hopeful.

“Do you still have any of those dragon scrolls around?”

#

Laws about flight changed rapidly as the formerly-human population of New Foals and Griflets and Whelps kept increasing. Staying below a certain altitude and away from airports to avoid getting sucked into a jet engine was very strongly enforced after the first few tragedies. Wearing visible transponders to warn and be warned about low-flying planes and copters quickly became a requirement. One as frequently ignored as the speed limit, and as much of a boon to newly winged police who needed to write some tickets.

Bram just hoped he didn't run into any overly zealous pegasi or griffons as he made his way at slightly above street level down and across the network of Allentown streets. The occasional catcalls and jeers from onlookers didn't help.

“Smooth sailing, lizard!” A griffon jeered as he flew past a busy intersection, rising just enough to get over the red light. He colored under his pink and purple scales and snapped at them, tossing his long floppy head crest to one side.

“Bite me, jerk!”

The griffon who'd catcalled laughed.

“I thought dragons could fly better than that!!”

Bram ground his fangs, fought down an impulse to breathe fire and create a roast griffon, and kept going. The pack on his back with his clothes and the two remaining scrolls shifted around. He took a moment to make sure it was still firmly fastened and went on, closing in on the hotel.

Hoping he wouldn't find any trouble there like the increasingly large mob of protesters outside the clinic when he left, he thought back on the transformation. He'd gone into an empty room, stripped, and read through the scroll, the elegant cursive unicorn mouth and horn writing joined to the rougher and more angular dragon script, both seeming to flow on the page and become familiar English. “Magic of Harmony, for a brief time I ask of you, set skin to scales and fill my heart with fire. Grant me wings and claws, fangs and fury...”

He'd expected the change to hurt. Hopefully not to be something as grisly as the transformations seen in a Carpenter movie, but he'd expected some blood and pain as his flesh and bone melted and flowed into dragon scales and claws and wings. True, Cynthia said that her transformation was quick and only hurt a little, caused by her regrowing cartilage in her joints and old bones becoming stronger than ever. Oh, and sprouting a muzzle full of fangs. And the sudden surge of heat inside as new dragon organs grew within her like the bladder joined to her windpipe that produced her fire.

To his slight dismay Bram just felt a little crunched for a moment, like someone was putting him into a set of tight clothes. Then it cleared and –

“WHY AM I PINK? AND PURPLE?”

“Mister Siegfried, no need to use your dragon voice!” Director Apple tossed her mane and pinned her ears back in annoyance. She sighed and said in a speech she'd rather obviously memorized, “The forms granted by the scrolls were those set into them when they were written down by the unicorn who created them. Most of us prefer less-savage looking dragons. Believe me, you're hardly the first would-be dragon who used a scroll and found themselves, well,” she waved a hoof, “cute. When you read another scroll, you'll probably look completely different.”

Bram still shuddered to think of it. His current coloration reminded him of that pony Princess Cadance. His form wasn't much better. He'd privately hoped for something macho and impressive like Tephra or the male New Whelps he'd seen, blocky muzzle, broad chest, fine curling horns. Instead he was lean with a stubby “hatchling” muzzle and short horns that reminded him of Cynthia's.

He just hoped that when he changed permanently he didn't end up looking like this forever. The other dragons would laugh themselves sick.

Speaking of other dragons, the Hotel Bethlehem grew before him; hopefully Ember and company were still there. He started to fly up, circling for height and making sure to avoid the buildings. At least he didn't need to concentrate on things like wind speed and direction and air pressure and how even with the insanely strong semi-hollow bones of a dragon he shouldn't be able to get off the ground at all. The scroll's transformation effect provided all that knowledge. If he thought about it he could feel it deep down in his mind, but when he did that – “Whups!”

He flapped frantically for several seconds before he remembered to let his magically-granted instincts take over. That was why the scroll granted them, after all. He evened out and, flying in lazy circles around the building, made his way to the top of the hotel. He caught a few human faces looking out their windows at him. A small child waved, the little girl looking delighted as she mouthed at the taller woman beside her. “Look, mommy! A dragon, a real dragon!”

“Enjoy your vacation, honey.” Bram called and flew on. He soon reached the roof and hovered, working his wings instinctively to catch the thermals created by the building.

He looked down on the rooftop suite. Main set of rooms in the larger building, that'd probably be where Ember was, a smaller building set apart and to one side that would have been servants in the old days but were probably where the annoyed Secret Service agents were waiting for the Dragon Lord to calm enough to let them back in, a small pool with no one beside it. Not even thinking he flicked out his long forked tongue and inhaled. Scents exploded in his head. The greasy and oddly attractive smell of burning gasoline from the cars far below, the concentrated sourness of so many humans put together, here and there a sweeter almost mouth-watering odor from pony or griffon, a harshness he recognized as 'dragon' that both welcomed and warned at once. He focused on that. It divided into several distinct and recognizable scents.

The strong fieriness of Volcano, the slightly spicier one of Tephra, Cynthia's scent making something grow warm inside him, Ember hot with anger and frustration, all over the place but most intense in the main building. Wait, where were Blaze and Jade?

The clouds overhead cleared enough to show his shadow against the roof.

Along with two massive shadows growing ever larger as they plummeted down at him.

Bram yelped, forgot entirely about his spell-granted instincts, and tried to dive.

Which was all that saved him from being hammered into the rooftop by Ember's furious bodyguards as they plunged at the complete stranger approaching the Dragon Lord without warning.

“DRAGON!” Jade's roar tore at his ears. “WHO ARE YOU, AND HOW DARE YOU COME HERE UNANNOUNCED?”

“Miss Jade!” Bram tried to yell as he plummeted. “I didn't think to call ahead! It's me, Bram! I need to tell Ember – AWK!”

It was late winter. The water in the rooftop pool was heated, but it still felt shockingly cold. Bram gasped as the chill bit at his scales, working its way inwards. He struck out for the edge of the pool and learned something else: dragons were denser than water. And they did not like getting water up their nose. His draconic instincts howled in terror as he fought to gain the poolside. His wings dragged at him, but he sank his claws into the concrete side of the pool, literally, and pulled himself up and out.

He panted for air. With a pair of thuds Jade and Blaze set down on either side of him. Their snarling faces glared down at him, fangs gleaming as brightly as their armor.

“Blaze,” he gasped. “Jade. Hi. You don't know me, but you do. I mean, you think you do. We've met but not like this...”

“He sounds crazed. Or drunk,” Blaze growled. Jade just nodded. Blaze said, “Maybe we should shred his wings to keep him here until the Dragon Lord tells us how she wants to handle him.” He held one large paw out, palm up, and flexed slightly. Claws like black iron splayed from the tips of his fingers.

Past them Bram saw Ember and Tephra and the rest outside the main rooms but watching from a distance. The Secret Service ran up, submachine guns in their hands. Making sure to stay clear of the dragon bodyguards they took up position, guns aimed at Bram. They were H&K MP5s. Bram felt impressed that he could recognize them right at that moment. He'd never noticed just how very large gun barrels looked when they were pointed right at you, or how they smelled like grease with a hint of old cordite.

“No!” Bram jumped up and waved his claws. “No need for that! I swear, I come in peace.” He saw Cynthia, and thought of words she would recognize. He raised his claws and smiled.

“Take me to your leader.”

Blaze and Jade looked at him in confusion. The Secret Service men had their sunglasses on, so no way to tell what they thought.

“Wait, what?” Cynthia blinked. She walked to Bram and looked into his eyes.

“Hi, Cyn.” He smiled at her, hoping. “I know I look, well, a little different, but no more'n you did when you got your scales.” She looked wary. He huffed. “Come on, Dian the Beautiful. Do I have to be tossed into the arena and fight some Barsoomian White Apes to prove who I am?”

“It's Bram,” Cynthia sighed and relaxed. She waved to the others, human and dragon alike. “He's safe.”

“We need more than your word for that,” one of the agents and Jade both said at once. They gave each other an annoyed glance. The agent nodded slightly and Jade turned her gaze back to Bram and Cynthia. Jade tapped him lightly on the chest with one heavy claw. It felt like being prodded with a battering ram. “How can he or you prove his words?”

“Now what's going on?”

Jade and Blaze immediately shifted to put themselves between Bram and Ember. She strode up, Bloodstone Scepter in one claw but out of her armor from that morning. The sun turned her scales to sapphires, but the frown on her face darkened the day all by itself. “Ugh! Who's this, another fan-hatchling New Whelp who just had to see the Dragon Lord? Well, you saw me.” She waved one claw dismissively. “Now you can leave. We're busy here.”

“I know how busy you are, Ember,” Bram dared to get to his feet. Jade and Blaze watched closely as he stepped towards her. “I was there when you fought with Mister Branson and his idiot son at the courthouse, where he manipulated you into losing it in front of the news cameras,” Ember hissed a warning, echoed with a thunderous rumble by Blaze and Jade.

“Just who are you?” Tephra growled, showing fang.

“I'm Bram,” he said, still panting. “Used one of the polymorph scrolls at the Clinic to get here safely.” When human and dragons alike gave him suspicious looks, he slapped his forehead and said, “Look, Ember, yesterday you came to my house and found Tephra with Molly. Remember?” He pointed at Tephra. The young dragon flushed right through his scales, lowering his head and looking embarrassed. When Cynthia bared her fangs at him he almost cringed.

“What! You had that floozy in the house?”

“She, she's not that bad!” Tephra's tail coiled protectively about him. “She likes dragons more than most humans...”

“Likes grabbing their jewels, you mean, and not just the ones in their hoards.” Cynthia growled. Bram thought he caught some quickly-hidden smirks on the faces of the Secret Service agents. He knew he caught a low rumbling laugh from Blaze.

“This is all very entertaining,” Bram walked out between Cynthia and Tephra, hands held up to keep them apart. He stood close by Ember. She frowned at him. He ignored it to say, “But we have more important concerns here than Tephra's love life. Ember,” he turned to her, “listen. Branson called the clinic. He's willing to drop the lawsuit.” She looked relieved. For a moment. “Provided you stand in front of it, with the cameras on, and formally apologize to him before everyone.”

That brought the explosion.

“WHAT!” Ember stormed forward, claws flexing. Bram held his ground as she snarled into his face, “You expect me to apologize to that, that mud-worm, after what he said to me and to all dragonkind? I'm the insulted party! URRAGH!” She threw her head back, roared and breathed a blast of fire into the sky. One of the new instincts in Bram told him to be submissive right now unless he wanted a fight. He told it to be silent. Past her he could see a heavy tarp draped across the front of the suite. Volcano stuck his head out on his long neck, eyes wide with worry. Bram nodded at him. Ember looked back at him. “I am the Dragon Lord Ember, daughter of Torch, winner of the Gauntlet of Fire, bearer of the Bloodstone Scepter,” she shook it furiously, “heir to a line unbroken since Mother Tiamat one hundred thousand years gone! I will NOT disgrace myself and my subjects by begging for pardon from some crawling snake!” She turned on her heel to stalk off. “And if that's why you came here, human-in-a-dragon-skin, you can turn around and leave, now!”

Bram didn't think. He just snatched Ember by the shoulder, and spun her around to look him in the face. The look on her face went from shocked to furious as he snapped, “Will you listen, you silly brat? This is about the clinics and the people they're trying to save, not your ego –”

“BRAM!”

Before he could ask Cynthia what the problem was, something slammed him into the rooftop hard enough to leave a small crater. Even through dragon scales and dragon toughness, Bram gasped in pain. Jade snarled down into his face. One of her claws was holding him down. Her open jaws showed fangs like curving sabers; emerald-green dragonfire glowed deep in her throat.

“Speak with respect to the Dragon Lord,” she hissed, “if you want to leave here alive.” Bram caught sight of Ember nearby. She looked confused and angry all at once.

“Ember,” Bram choked out. Jade growled warning. He ignored her. “Lady Ember, this involves your people. Do you want them to suffer because you were insulted by some fool?” She looked uneasy but held her ground.

“Ember.” Cynthia came to stand beside him. When Ember looked at her, Cynthia said, “You told us you won the Gauntlet of Fire. But you didn't, did you? Another dragon did, a pony-raised dragon, and he handed you the Bloodstone Scepter. You never earned it, not then,” Bram squirmed to see the fire leaping up in Ember's eyes, and at the growls coming from Blaze and Jade. Cynthia coolly ignored them. “You said earlier that the other dragons use that against you. They say you're not a real Dragon Lord. That you're just some hatchling who got lucky, happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

The growls of Ember and Jade and Blaze were deepening. Smoke trickled from their nostrils. Ember half-crouched, like she wanted to leap at Cynthia. Bram coughed softly, stretched his neck and nudged Cynthia's ankle with his snout. Be careful. Cynthia paid him no more heed than them.

“Do you want to show everyone that you're the Dragon Lord, Ember?” Cynthia stepped closer to Ember and pointed at the Bloodstone Scepter. “Then stop using that to silence dragons when they disagree with you or criticize you. Do what's best for them. Apologize to that ass Branson, and get him off the backs of the clinics.”

“Dragons are creatures of pride,” Ember said. Was she weakening? “Me as much as any of them. Am I supposed to be less than my people, and then expect them to respect me?”

“No,” Cynthia walked closer, until she stood directly in front of Ember. “You'd be doing this because it needs to be done, and you're the only one who can do it. That's why.”

The rooftop fell silent. Bram and the others, human and dragon alike, watched as Ember wrestled with her pride on one claw and her sense of duty on the other. Bram remembered what he'd been told about her constant fight for the respect and loyalty of most of her people, of how she had to always be hard and proud and fierce to win even a little of their regard.

He didn't want to think how much weight lay on Ember's scaly shoulders and of how little she wanted any of it. Right now they needed to think about the clinics and the threat to them and what would be happening to humanity, here and across the planet, if they shut down.

After several long moments she looked up and nodded at Jade. The bigger dragoness scowled and lifted her claw from Bram. He got up and started breathing again.

“So. The Branson-human wants an apology.” Bram looked up into Ember's eyes as she spoke. “In front of the clinic. With a crowd watching.”

“Yes,” Bram felt his neck and winced. Jade's claw was heavy. “He promised he'd stop the lawsuit if he got a public apology.”

“Would he keep his word?” Ember took a few steps back towards the tarp. She turned back around and faced them. She frowned, downward-curving horns making her look even more intimidating. “I don't trust him.”

“Neither do I, but his kind always has one weakness: they have to 'appear respectable'. He has to make himself appear as an Angel of Light, play the Righteous Hero. 'Not from any Heavenly virtue, but from Hellish respectability.' This will be in public with most of that world being able to see it. If he breaks his word he'll make a liar out of himself in front of all those people.” At Ember's frown he shrugged. “Besides, we've got little choice,” Bram looked over the rooftops in the direction he'd flown from. “The clinic had a mob in front of it when I left, and –”

The phone of one of the Secret Service agents went off. He reddened slightly as the dragons all glared at him and took it out, walking away to speak into it.

“Why did humans even make those things,” Ember muttered. “They're such a pain. Every five minutes they seem to be going off, and it's usually with a message you didn't even want to hear.”

“Some of us wonder that ourselves,” Cynthia said. The agent returned, a worried look on his face.

“Dragon Lord Ember, Mister Siegfried, Miss Stoltz,” he tapped his phone. “You were talking about that mob at the clinic?”

“Yes,” Bram said, feeling worry slowly worm its way through him. “Did something happen?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. As he spoke Bram saw the other agents behind him hurrying to check the elevator to the roof, or scanning the nearby rooftops with small binoculars. “Two of the staff came back from a dinner date. A griffon and one of those cat-people...”

“Granch and Mewsette.” Bram took a step forward. He felt a chill as Cynthia set her claw on his shoulder, gripping tightly. “What happened?”

“They were attacked by the mob.” The agent frowned as he spoke. “They're in the ER at St. Luke's in Bethlehem.” Bram started, dreading what might have happened. Mewsette and especially Granch packed natural weaponry of their own, claws and fangs for her and beak, talons, and claws for him, besides the greater strength and toughness most Equestrian races had. But that wouldn't mean much against guns or even one or two dozen berserk humans who cared nothing for anything but stamping and slashing and crushing the invaders underfoot. He imagined it, howls and screams and cries of rage on all sides as that gang he'd seen trampled over two bodies underfoot like shapeless bloody rags –

“Are they alright?” His voice shook. He forced a calmness he didn't feel into it. “Are they expected to live, or, or not?”

“Why were they attacked?” Ember snapped. She flexed her hands, claws splaying like she wanted to be grabbing someone by the throat with them. “Did anyone say that?”

“The mob attacked them.” The Secret Service agent repeated as he looked at her, expressionless behind his sunglasses. “They were screaming they were going to kill the monsters.”

“That they were going to kill anyone and everyone from Equestria,” Ember's face darkened as he spoke, “unless Dragon Lord Ember admitted the truth about the List and the Cure to Branson in public. Right now.”

Bombs and Dragons

Bram burst through the doors of the emergency room at St. Luke's, Cynthia and Tephra hot on his heels. Doctors and nurses and EMTs all froze as he yelled at the top of his draconic lungs, “WE'RE FROM THE CLINIC! FRIENDS OF GRANCH THE GRIFFON AND MISS MEWSETTE! WHERE ARE THEY? WE WERE TOLD THEY WERE BROUGHT HERE!”

“They are here,” someone said nearby after the walls stopped vibrating.

Bram saw the female EMT from the courthouse that morning. “They're both in one piece – ow,” she rubbed a hand against her ear, “and going to be fine. Miss Mewsette,” her face twisted in disbelief at the name, “has a broken arm and some bruises but is otherwise fine – HEY!” She yelled after the three dragons. “At least wait for me to get someone to help you find...”

They ignored her to race past several curtained off areas. Beds laid in them along with medical personnel and people in various states of distress. Most were human but here and there he saw a pony or the odd griffon or Diamond Dog, many of them having minor injuries being tended to. He also noticed some police present and looking unhappy. They glanced at the trio but ignored them. Bram wondered if they were left alone because people thought they belonged here or because no one wanted to argue with three large and upset dragons.

“GRANCH!” He roared. People nearby winced at the volume. Some glared. No one said anything. “MEWSETTE! THIS IS BRAM! WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Bram?” Granch stepped out from one of the alcoves. A bandage was bound around his side. Bram smelled blood mixed with the antiseptic odor of disinfectant. The griffon approached with a swagger. “Wait, that's really you? Yeesh, what are you doing here? And why did ya turn scaly now of all times?”

“I needed the armor,” Bram tapped a claw against his scaly chest. He looked at Granch's wounded side. “Looks like you needed it more.”

“How's Mewsette?” Cynthia looked around. “She here with you or did they discharge her already?”

“How big a fight was it?” Tephra sounded more eager and disappointed than worried. His voice roughened towards a growl. “Were they really yelling threats about the Dragon Lord?”

“Hey, dweebs, one at a time!” Granch set a claw to his forehead and hissed. “Ow. Darn side. Yeah, I'm okay, if it matters.” He puffed his chest out and, somehow, gave a nasty grin through his beak. “You shoulda seen the other flock.” He flexed his talons. Dark stains showed on them.

“Mister Granch, if you really don't mind?” A doctor came around the side of the curtain, short and busy and fussy with dark skin and hair. He held up cotton swabs. “We need to be checking the, ah, the evidence you and Miss Mewsette got from your fight with the other gentlemen. We want to be sure of the blood types of everyone who was injured so if they try to have themselves seen to at another hospital...”

“I know, I know,” Granch ruffled up his feathers in annoyance. “Those human guardsmen, ugh, I mean 'cops' explained it when they took those other jerks away. You gotta get that blood type-whatever so if the ones that ran off get help they can get arrested. Why bother?” He raised one foreleg and mimed making a muscle. “I taught 'em better. Those dweebs ain't comin' back for more.”

“Granch,” Mewsette's voice called from just beyond the curtains. She sounded tired and slightly loopy from whatever painkillers they'd given her. “Just let Doctor Anthony get the sample so he can go help someone else.”

The griffin grumbled but stood still as the doctor wiped swabs along first his beak and then his talons. “And please try to stay out of any more trouble,” he said as he finished and hurried away. “This is one place where we don't like to see repeat customers.”

“Yes, mother,” Granch muttered as he joined the dragons inside the alcove. Within lay a bed and on it lay Mewsette, in a hospital gown instead of her usual blazer. She had an IV drip attached and a splint on her arm and her usually free-flowing hair done up. Bram couldn't help but stare at her broken arm. If I hadn't pissed those people off, she might not be here.

“You okay, Mewsette?” Cynthia knelt by the head of the bed. She and Mewsette shared a quick hug, scales on fur. “They gave you something for the pain, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft. She lifted her splinted arm, grinned and winced. “They had to be careful because, you know, not too sure about how human medicines would work on me.” Bram nodded. There were surprising similarities between the biochemistries of Equestrian and Terran life, but there were some mighty big differences too. And not all of them were known yet. Especially with the less familiar Equestrian races. And those differences could lead to disaster if someone had a toxic reaction to a helpful-for-humans medicine. Mewsette gave a small laugh. “They wanted to try catnip but I said Granch couldn't handle it.”

Bram relaxed a little as Cynthia laughed along with Mewsette. She must not be too bad if she could joke.

“What happened?” Tephra asked the question they all wanted to know. He looked from Granch to Mewsette. “How did you two come to get hurt?”

“We didn't come ta get hurt,” Granch said evenly, looking straight ahead. “We came ta get back ta the job.” Bram groaned at the dry griffon humor. Granch shrugged. “Okay, okay. I went ta get lunch with Mewsette at that Mongolian Barbecue down the street – all-the-meat-you-can-eat. Anyhow, we was coming back and saw this big crowd outside. I noticed a couple of griffs at the edge with two human kids an' saw they were the ones still gettin' some lessons ta be griffons and on how we handle the grifflets.” He smirked. “Ah coulda told them ta just drop the kids off on top of a mountain when they act up and come back an hour later ta see if they'd settled down, but New Griffs get funny about stuff like that.”

“Granch.” Bram made a circling motion with one claw. “The fight. How you got hurt. Remember?”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Anyway, we saw those protester dweebs chase those griffs away. Mewsette wanted ta go 'round the back but I walked right up ta the nearest guy and asked him my politest, 'What's going on, punk? Why're ya chasin' away the folks we came here ta help?'” Granch shook his head. “He didn't like that. Called me a few names. I laughed at him. He got madder. Yeesh, what did he expect? 'Alien monster'? 'Damned catbird'? Those were his best?” He shook his head in professional disdain. “Just plain pitiful, if ya ask me.”

“Ahem”, Mewsette said from the bed. She tried to sit up. Cynthia showed her the control for it. Mewsette used it and when she was more upright said, “I'm afraid Granch was, well, not exactly polite when he spoke to those humans. They took it badly. Two or three dove on him and another grabbed for me.” She popped the claws on her other hand. “I gave him these across the face and he decided he'd had enough. Granch tossed his attackers to the side.”

“No claws or beak?” Tephra snorted. Granch snorted back at him.

“Hey, enough humans are afraid of griffins as it is, and we're supposed to 'be on our best behavior',” he jeered the last words. “Me, I say that when the humans show me their best behavior they can ask for mine.” As he spoke a pair of EMTs walked past the end of the alcove. He glared at them, fur and feathers ruffling up. They took one look at him, Mewsette, and the three dragons, and left. “I didn't use my beak or talons until I heard Mewsette yowl and saw her on the ground clutching her arm.” His face darkened. “After that, buck that scat. I started clawing.”

“It wasn't even one of them who did it,” Mewsette muttered, raising her broken arm and wincing. “I tried to get inside, tripped over someone's foot, and landed on my arm.”

“It wouldn't a' happened if they didn't start a fight with us,” Granch's voice was cold. It turned eager again he said, “Anyhow, I clawed a couple, bit a piece outta someone else, got cut sometime, an' by then those guys with the suits and the cops broke everything up.” He folded his forelegs over his chest in disgust. “Held a gun on me while they arrested those other humans. Like I was the problem.”

“More like they wanted to keep them safe from a two hundred and fifty pound griffin.” Granch looked pleased at Bram's words. He looked from the griffin to Mewsette. “Please. I have to apologize. I got there an hour or so before you two had your fight. I scammed my way past those protesters outside and flipped them off afterwards.”

“BRAM!” He winced at Cynthia's snarl. It echoed around the room, silencing the normal racket of busy doctors and complaining patients. As they began speaking again, she snapped, “How old are you, twelve?”

“Hey, lady, take it easy,” Granch laughed. “Anygriff woulda done the same – 'Ponies Flee, Griffons Fight.' And don't sit there looking sorry like some chump,” he lightly slapped Bram on one cheek. “Even if ya gave those losers something to think about, ya didn't make them attack us.”

“They did that themselves,” Mewsette nodded. As she spoke another stretcher was carried past. A groaning pony lay on it, a purple and blue unicorn stallion sporting a fine set of bruises. A red-brown Earth pony mare hurried along asking in worry about her husband. A pair of uniformed patrolmen accompanied her with the female EMT along behind. She stopped when she saw Bram watching.

“New Foal and her husband,” she pointed after them. Bram saw a pony doctor, New Foal or Trueborn, asking questions along with the officers. “Apparently someone got pissed over what happened at the clinic and decided to take a poke at the first pony they met.”

“Don't you just love humans?” Granch growled.

“Maybe you can say that to some of the still-human patients we've got coming in now,” the EMT gave Granch such a dirty look he looked abashed. Slightly. “Converts and Trueborns, and some of their human supporters, have been going after anyone who looked like they didn't support the end of humanity at those damn clinics.”

“Ma'am, we're not –” Mewsette stopped speaking as the EMT waved her hand in disgust.

“I know. I've heard it all before. It's a natural disaster and no one can change or control it.” She turned away. “The human race is still going to become extinct in my lifetime. That's the kind of thing pisses people off.” Another stretcher was brought in. This one had a human on it, a man. His shirt was ripped and his face and chest were slashed with three cuts on each. He'd been clawed. The EMT watched him be borne past.

“Griffon talons,” Granch observed. “Slashed him just enough to make a point. If a griff needs to kill, he kills.”

The EMT made a disgusted noise and hurried after the stretcher. “Dammit. How I love these busy nights.”

Bram hurried after her. “Ma'am,” he wished he didn't feel so useless right now, wondered if ought to say he was still actually human or if it'd do any good. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Really?” She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were dark and full of exhaustion and disgust. “Can you fix this?” She waved one hand around the emergency room.

“Actually? Yes.”

“Then do us all a favor, Godzilla.” She turned and ran down the hall to where someone was crying out in pain. She called back. “Hurry up and do it!”

#

When Bram and the others left the hospital, a few guardponies and medics from the local clinics were arriving to offer their services. Bram felt his worries redouble he took to the air, Tephra and Cynthia flying with him. He looked down at the city as he flew over it. No smoke rising, no buildings being sacked, no wild mobs. Nothing looked like the city was on the verge of a riot.

But it was. And he knew deep down that part of this was his doing. He'd added fuel to the fire if nothing else.

“What now?” Cynthia asked him. He took a moment to admire the way she and Tephra unconsciously reacted to every little change in the air, using the updrafts produced by trucks and cars passing below to help glide.

“I think I just want to go home,” Bram sighed. He looked westwards. The sky was clear and blue, with only a few small clouds passing high overhead. “Maybe I can get some quiet there while I figure out what I've got to do.”

“Just remember,” Tephra flew close by, a little above him. “You need to be at the clinic early tomorrow when the Dragon Lord apologizes,” he growled, his crest rising in his passion, “to that Branson-human and his miserable hatchling.” He snorted, thick smoke trilling from his nostrils into wisps as they flew. “She will need some supporters with her.”

“Should I go as a human, you think?”

Tephra shook his head no.

“The Branson hatchling threatened you, remember?” He looked at Cynthia. “You too. Dragon Lord Ember told me to stay with you until tomorrow.” He scowled and lashed his tail, causing him to dip for a moment before he regained his control. “We don't need anydragon else getting hurt now.”

Cynthia shook her head. “Do you really think anyone would go that far? A fistfight is one thing, but tracking someone back to their own home?” By now they were past the cement plant, flying down the streets in Siegfried Station. The streets were empty. Only a few cars drove by below. Bram hoped that was a good omen as he dropped to the ground to walk back down to his house.

“Maybe they did.” Tephra's eyes went wide. He dropped and pointed.

Bram looked and gasped. Cynthia set down beside him.

“Oh, Bram!”

He said nothing. He just stumbled forward, ignoring the broken glass under his scaly feet. Every window on the house was smashed, glass scattered inside and outside. The door hung on its hinges, the lock smashed. His home, his parent's and grandparent's home, all the way back to Colonel Siegfried before the United States even existed, had been wrecked.

“Bram!”

He didn't notice which of them said it. He ran forward until something landed on his back, sending him to the dirt.

“Bram, don't!” Cynthia tried holding him. He snarled as he fought back to his feet. She tried holding his arms, struggling to keep her grip. “Bram, hold still! You don't know who's in there, we have to call the police!” He ignored her, plunging and roaring. “Tephra, help me!”

“I don't care!” Bram roared. He tried to pull free as Tephra grabbed him. “Let me go!”

“You know, dragons defend their lairs,” Tephra said to Cynthia.

“Someone might be in there, armed,” Cynthia braced herself and held Bram.

“That's my home! I hope whoever did it is still in there,” Bram snarled, slavering, a fiery heat intensifying in his chest and throat. Cynthia and Tephra tightened their grip. He threw himself against their grip, tearing one arm free. He raised his free hand, claws crooked. “I want to rip them apart!”

“Bram!” Cynthia's hand blurred. Bram felt his head rock back. He staggered, shocked out of his fury. “Think. We've been threatened. This could be a trap.” She held his head in both her hands and stared into his eyes. “We have to call the police, right now. Or do you want the people who vandalized your parents' home to get away with it?”

Those words brought him up short as no warning of physical danger could. Then he thought again.

“One problem. I had to turn my phone off after getting those calls." He checked his backpack and groaned. "I left it at the clinic.” He jerked a thumb claw at the house. “And you said you turned yours off because of them. The only phone I've got is inside the house.” He walked inside as she yelled after him.

“Bram, don't be a fool!”

“It's this or nothing,” He called back. “Besides,” he turned and thumped a scaly fist against his chest, “what are they going to do, shoot me?” Those words reminded him of the pistols he'd seen Lawyer Branson's bodyguards toting, and of guns some NRA friends showed him recently, weapons that were becoming popular with the increase of near-bulletproof beings. Great big massive things like Ruger Blackhawks and Desert Eagle .50s and those .577 T-Rex rifle rounds used for big game hunting. Wishing he had a less potent imagination, he walked into his house through the smashed open door.

Inside he found less of a shambles that he feared. Books were tossed on the floor, pages torn from them. He groaned to see them. He recognized fifty-year-old Arkham House collectibles that an uncle left him, ruined forever now, along with many more. That widescreen Tephra and the ladies had bought for movie night was smashed. Even worse, the old framed family pictures were ruined. He growled and clenched his claws. He devoutly hoped someone was hiding in the house to await their return. He would enjoy seeing the look on their face as he wrapped his claws around their throat and breathed fire right into their face. “Drakarys!”

Moving quickly, Bram checked the house. Aside from all the windows being broken it looked like the damage was confined to the living room. Bram knew he should be happy they hadn't simply torched the place. He still wanted to break the necks of the vermin responsible for this.

“At least Molly wasn't here waiting for Tephra,” he muttered as he went for the kitchen phone. He stepped inside and froze. Completely out of place with everything else was a large white envelope sitting atop the counter. It bore only two words on it. For you.

Bram snatched it up. He ought to leave it for the police when they arrived. He knew that. Right now he was too angry to care. He sliced it open along the end with one claw.

Pictures were inside. As he set them down he gasped.

The first few looked innocent enough. Photos of his shocked face and Cynthia's angry one, probably taken by Nod the other morning. Had they been uploaded online? Pictures of Volcano, Tephra, of Dragon Lord Ember at her hotel suite. He wondered how the latter must have been taken. They looked to have been done with one of those fancy long-range cameras. Ember was standing in front of one of those big windows up there and looked to be arguing with someone off to one side.

Far more ominously, someone had drawn red cross-hairs over her head.

Bram turned to the next photo and froze. It showed the inside of what looked like an abandoned factory or warehouse. Nod's van was there. Sitting in front of it were half a dozen big white bags clearly labeled 'ammonium nitrate'. On top of and around those bags were piled boxes of nails. To his confusion at the edge of the picture he could see what looked like some sort of thick gray plastic cord. He wondered if maybe it was something from the previous owners that was abandoned.

One last photo. It showed the clinic. Nod's van was parked in front of it. A crudely drawn Princess Ember stood nearby, and an equally crude lit fuse trailed from the van. Along with, of all things, a smiley face. And all drawn in blood red ink.

Bram felt cold. Tomorrow. Ember and that jackass Branson in front of the clinic, with cops and Secret Service and reporters, you could trust Branson for that, and clinic staff and a nice big crowd on one of Allentown's busier streets. Probably a few hundred people, at least, and maybe more. He could just see that van come screaming from out of a nearby side street or alley -- he remembered almost a dozen of them leading to the clinic -- and before anyone could react –

“Bram!”

He yelped and dropped the photos as Cynthia turned him around. She half-growled, exposing her fangs in mixed worry and anger.

“What's the matter with you?” She picked up the phone and, very gently, punched in the number for the local police. Yes, of course, Bram thought woozily. Don't want to be breaking the phone now like Tephra did that one time when he hit the number-pad a little too strongly. Cynthia held it to her muzzle as she said, “Tephra's upstairs checking on his room. He was pretty unhappy about the TV, you know how he loves his movies. And you're supposed to be calling the police, and --” She looked down and saw the pictures. Her crest flattened as her slit-pupils widened. She picked them up. Bram faintly heard someone come on the other end as she did.

“Hello? Hello? Is someone there?” The voice was tinny and annoyed. Bram snatched the phone from Cynthia's unresisting claws as she stared at the pictures. “Great, another joker. Look, kid, whoever you are, we're kind of busy today with all the fallout from Miss Dragon Lady's little rant and --”

“Officer?” Bram said into the phone. “Please. Listen.” Cynthia set the pictures down on the counter as though they might explode. Her tail curled in close. He felt muscles tighten in his lower back and rump as his own did the same. “My house was vandalized and,” he gulped, “I think I found a death threat here. To Princess Ember.”

“Huh? What?” Bram imagined whoever was on the other end shaking their head in disbelief. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Look, dumb-head,” Bram yelled into the phone. “Get me in touch with Agent Kingman from the Secret Service. He's the lead agent on Princess Ember's bodyguard detail. He has to have left some kind of contact information with you people. I'm telling you right now, someone's out to kill her and a lot of other people!” He slammed his claw down on the counter and heard something break. “Do you hear me?”

“Uh, Bram,” Cynthia pointed at what he held in his claw.

Bram looked. The phone dangled from his claw, a broken mass of plastic and electronics.

“Great,” he growled and dropped it to the counter. “Just great. Now what?”

“Well, for starters,” Cynthia tapped the photos, “we take these to Agent Kingman and have him show them to Ember. Maybe she'll listen this time.”

Bram shook his head. “You seriously think that?”

“Not really,” Cynthia shook her head. “But we have to start somewhere.” She gave Bram a brief hug.

“Bram, those humans wrecked your lair.” Tephra walked into the kitchen, muzzle thrust forward and snorting smoke. “That plasma-wide-whatever thing too! Now I have to sell more of my gems to get another one.” He froze when he saw the broken phone on the counter. “Well, at least there's one good thing in all this.”

Bram looked at him, feeling tired. “And that is?”

Tephra pointed at the phone. “You can't criticize me for breaking the phone again.”

#

The next morning felt chilly, even through Bram's scroll-granted scales and interior heating. The area in front of the clinic looked oddly empty without the angry protesters of the past few days, despite having several members of the staff lead by Director Swift Aid Apple, along with Princess Ember, Volcano, and Tephra standing there. So were the Secret Service and FBI agents, many of them now in body armor. Two massive bat-winged shadows passed over the ground as Jade and Blaze circled overhead. Nearby stood local reporters with their cameras and microphones to record Branson's moment of triumph.

Bram looked around at the nearby buildings. Most of them were relatively small unlike the local skyscrapers starting half a mile away in the real downtown, but he still wondered which of those dark windows might have someone standing behind them with a rifle. To judge by the way the members of the local news crew looked around nervously, they were thinking the same thing.

Five or six blocks down the street in both directions a crowd stood behind hastily-erected safety barriers and a line of police like the ones he'd seen used on TV for celebrity events. Most of them looked more curious than anything. Only a few bore signs either praising or condemning the clinics. While he couldn't see them from here he knew similar manned barriers were down the side streets as well. Or were supposed to be. He uneasily counted just how many streets and alleys there were leading into one of Allentown's main thoroughfares. He just hoped the Feds and police could watch them all.

“I really don't like this,” Cynthia muttered. She paced back and forth, stopped and looked at Bram. “It feels like I'm waiting for a bomb to go off --" She stopped, shook herself. "At least you don't look like a cartoon character today.”

“Thank you, dear lady,” Bram squeezed her claw. “You look great too. Scales and fangs all polished and everything.” Cynthia sniffed and lightly swatted his leg with her tail.

Bram caught his reflection in the front window of the clinic, hastily repaired from yesterday's fracas. The first dragon scroll wore off last night, its 24-hour limit running out. He'd read the second dragon scroll that morning before leaving Ember's hotel room. He, Tephra, and Cynthia were put in it by the Secret Service after they'd revealed the break-in and the contents of the envelope. His new scales were Prussian blue and purple on his belly, with a slender muzzle and violet eyes. He raised one hand and flexed, barbed claws splaying from his fingertips. He lightly tapped his chest. His claws clicked on the tough scales covering it.

For all the good it might do if someone set off a thousand-pound car bomb.

That made him think back to last night when he'd shared the photos at his house with Agent Kingman and Ember.

“I don't get it,” she'd said, looking at the photos in confusion. They'd gone back to her hotel suite, standing well away from any windows at Agent Kingman's insistence. All save the three adult dragons, who watched through the open double doors leading onto the roof. She held the photo of the ammonium nitrate close to her eye and peered at it, working her way through the words on the bags. Bram idly wondered if she needed a translation spell to read them or if she'd actually taken the time to learn English. “Wait, he wants to try throwing manure at us?” She snickered. “I've heard scarier threats from hatchlings.”

“Fertilizer, ma'am, not 'manure'.” Agent Kingman sounded like he'd long since gotten tired of explaining these things to uncooperative dragons. “Ammonium Nitrate is a highly volatile compound that is harmless on its own...”

“Bah.” Ember tossed the photos away. “Then what's the problem?” She froze when Agent Kingman stepped in front of her. He held up a finger before her eyes. Tephra, Volcano, Blaze and Jade all bristled up. They subsided when she lowered the Bloodstone Scepter in command.

“It's harmless on its own, until it gets combined with a flammable like fuel oil or diesel, at which point the mixture becomes an explosive.” He said it like he was reciting a lesson in school for particularly obtuse students. Bram wondered if that wasn't precisely what he was doing. “It's commonly used in blasting, but it has also been used in several major terrorist attacks on our world, madam. Normally it requires a booster charge to set it off, but in large amounts it can be detonated by a hot enough fire, which means,” he tapped her on the muzzle before turning to look at the other dragons, “if any of you breathe fire into it you might cause an explosion that could level the clinic and most of the surrounding block. Not to mention killing all of you and hundreds of innocent people. Is that clear, ladies and gentlemen? Please say yes.” He gazed at the dragons until they all nodded agreement. Bram thought they looked unconvinced.

“Okay,” Ember folded her arms across her chest. “So what about tomorrow? I need to settle this mess with that human Branson, and he refuses to do to any other way than publicly.”

“I'm afraid she's right, sir.” The clinic lawyer, Horowitz, nodded his bald head. “I've spoken to Mister Branson and he completely refuses to either reschedule or relocate. He says that he's not going to give terrorists what they want.”

Kingman made a sound like a growl. “If he insists on having a crowd of several hundred people standing around in front of the clinic just so he can yell 'I won' in public, he's definitely giving Nod and his friends what they want. A lot of targets.” He sighed and slumped. “But I have my orders to follow, and they are to do what the Dragon Lord wants.”

“And I want this mess to be over.” Ember looked at the widescreen on the wall. “I saw your news. Dragons and people and ponies and more are getting hurt because of,” she snarled, “because of what I said, and what Branson and his friends did.” She nodded at Bram and Cynthia. “Look what happened to their lair. If a dragon can't feel safety in their own lair, and I can stop it by my actions, then I will.” She walked to the couch and sank down in it, looking very tired. “Agent Kingman, can you do something to keep things safe tomorrow? To make sure this crazy human with the fertilizer bomb can't hurt anydragon – I mean anyone?”

“We'll do what we can, Ma'am,” Agent Kingman said before turning to Bram and Cynthia. “As for you two, you better stay here tonight. You've been threatened and you're known associates of her majesty. If the Dragon Lord permits.”

He left the room. Ember watched him go as though she'd been waiting for it. Bram headed for the door, he and Cynthia walking past Ember. He ignored Jade's angry hiss at his disrespect. Nothing would satisfy her.

“Well, we can sleep in the living room. Goodnight, Dragon Lord Ember, all of you –”

“Stop.” Bram kept going. Ember spoke again, her voice sharp. “I said wait.”

He froze as iron clamped down on his body, stopping him in his tracks. A part of him connected to the scroll suddenly awakened. It cried for obedience. Beside him Cynthia also froze, her eyes lit from within.

Both turned and walked back to Ember where she held the Bloodstone Scepter out. It glowed softly. So this is what it felt like to be mind-controlled, Bram thought.

“Ember,” Cynthia growled. “I told you to not do this.”

“Dragon Lord, this is not right!” Bram's snarl joined hers. He saw past her. Confusion broad on the faces of Tephra and Volcano, and on Blaze and Jade's as well. What was Ember doing? “We aren't your subjects!”

“No, you're not.” Ember nodded agreement, her horns framing those crimson eyes. “But you still helped me.” She walked to Bram and Cynthia, raised the Bloodstone Scepter and lightly tapped first her and then him on the muzzle-tip with it. “Here and now, in front of these witnesses,” she indicated Volcano, Tephra, and the other dragons, “I declare that you are under my protection. An attack on you is an attack on me.”

Bram looked at Cynthia. Her muzzle was open and her eyes wide; she was just as surprised as he was. The Trueborns looked shocked.

“I am glad to see that my students have impressed you this much, Dragon Lord,” Volcano lowered his head to her. “I am proud to see that I have served you so well.”

“Dragon Lord, is this wise?” Blaze shot Volcano a cautious look. She scowled at Bram. “They have done little to be worthy of this honor. That one,” she put out one claw and poked him in the chest hard enough to shove him into the wall, “is not even a dragon, and may never become one! Are you saying that Blaze and I are to regard their lives as being as important to us as yours?”

“Yes.” Ember held the scepter high. The gem glowed coldly. Bram saw that glow reflected in the eyes of the other dragons, and within he felt a sort of tugging in his mind towards it himself. “Protect them as you do me. They brought us all warning of what that crazy human plans. I say here and now, their lives are as much to you as mine.” Jade opened her mouth to say something, but fell silent as Ember flew up to look her in the eyes. “Must I repeat myself?”

Jade glanced from her to Bram and Cynthia. “No, Dragon Lord,” she muttered, an ugly gleam in her eyes. “I shall obey.”

“Good.” Ember set a claw on both Bram and Cynthia's shoulders. “Listen. You've been threatened in part because of what I said. I'm not going to pretend I regret it,” a hiss of anger entered her voice, “but I do regret getting you in trouble. Especially after you aided my dragons and me. Rest here tonight. I, I want you there tomorrow when I apologize to Branson and his hatchling.”

“Okay,” Bram wondered what this was about. To judge by Cynthia's appearance, her scaly crest lowering and golden eyes widening, she felt just as much confusion. “May we know why?”

Ember stepped back, folded her arms and took a deep breath. “Because if you and Volcano are there, I can tell myself I'm apologizing to you three and not, ugh, him.” She walked over to the counter where some ordered coffee was sitting. Apparently Volcano wasn't the only dragon corrupted by the bean. She took a deep swig. “It will make this easier for me. So be there.” She worked her muzzle as though the next word came hard. “Please.”

Bram looked from her to Cynthia. He could recognize the look on her face. “Yes.”

And that led us to here, Bram thought, and to maybe getting shot or blown to bits if a lunatic decides we need to die so he can see his name in the papers. He looked up and down the street again. No crazy people running down the street holding a bomb and yelling 'Kill the monsters'. That's a good thing.

He walked over to Ember. Her scales and armor both gleamed from the polishing they'd gotten earlier. She held the Bloodstone Scepter and wore a fearsome spiked and fanged helmet and looked ready for a fight. Bram wondered if she'd changed her mind. Dragons were proud beings, the Dragon Lord not least among them. Tephra stood nearby as her attendant, looking very grave and serious, especially for him. He held a folded white cloth in his hands and kept close by.

Meanwhile Agent Kingman spoke into his phone. He wore his suit but Bram could catch the bulge of body armor beneath. A faint sourness to his scent said 'worry' to Bram's temporary enhanced senses. “The limo's there? No one else with it? Good. Show them through and get that barrier shut up again. You check them out. We'll clear them again down here.” Agent Kingman set it down and noticed him. “Keep clear,” he said, motioning him back. “We need to check Branson out.”

“He doesn't seem the type to blow himself up,” Bram muttered as he stepped back.

Agent Kingman gave him a scornful look.

“After fifteen years in the Secret Service, I can honestly say you never know how crazy someone can get when they think they've got nothing left to lose.” He hurried over to the approaching limousine. It was large and a stately gray and it looked to Bram like someone's cut-down fishing boat turned into a car. He glanced around again. Volcano watched closely as it pulled to a stop, his toeclaws lightly scratching at the asphalt. His eyes narrowed slightly as Branson Jr. got out of the car, wearing a suit that looked both expensive and brand new. He noticed Bram and Cynthia watching and smirked. He started to walk in their direction, but stopped when a pair of agents made him halt. They quickly checked him out, even waving some sort of electronic wand over him before letting him go. As they turned to the other people in the car, a driver, an escort, and Branson senior, he walked over to Bram and Cynthia. The disgusted scowl on his face turned to a nasty leer.

He spoke in a voice soft enough to be heard only by them, “Hey, how's the house? Need any work? I hear those old places can be hard to keep up.” His smile hit shit-eating grin levels. “Must look like a mob trashed it, sometimes.”

“If I could prove what I suspect I'd be giving those cameras a show they'd never forget,” Cynthia said, the soft words barely covering her boiling fury. Branson Jr. just laughed as though they'd shared a joke and strolled over to his father. He wore a suit slightly less new than his son's but that looked to be made of even finer fabric. Two of the husky fellows from the other day stood close by, each with a Secret Service agent beside him.

“Well, here we are.” Mister Branson nodded to the cameras, with just enough of a smile to make it obvious that he'd won but not like he gloated. Ember drew herself up proudly. Branson turned and waved to the crowd down the street. “Today, we get some answers!”

“What?” Bram said, and “What?” Ember echoed him.

“You said you were coming here for my apology,” Ember half growled the words. “You said nothing about 'getting answers'. To what?”

Branson Senior drew himself up like a boxer about to deliver a winning punch. Bram felt sickly sure what was about to follow.

“To the reality of the List,” Branson Senior said, raising his voice so that it echoed against the glass and steel walls of the buildings. Ember stared in shock and so did the Clinic staff. “To what's being done with the Cure. Did you honestly think I'd let you creatures continue to prey on the despair and misery of humanity's most vulnerable?”

Cheers echoed down the street from the crowd. Bram could see the police down there holding their hands out to keep everyone back. They were the only ones happy. He wondered if Branson had lost his mind. He'd not just deceived Ember; he'd insulted her by publicly accusing her of treachery. His son looked pleased at his father's audacity. Bram glanced at Tephra and Volcano. A faint wisp of black smoke trickled from their nostrils. It thickened as he watched.

Ember looked poleaxed. This was the last thing she'd expected.

“There is no List! Not on our side of the Veil! And there is no hidden cure being offered to the wealthy of your species! That's not why any of us are here!” She fell back a step and waved her claws. “I came here to apologize as you asked,” she snarled the last, “and this is what you do?”

“It's amazing how I'm being asked to keep good faith,” the elder Branson stepped back, putting a hand to his chest in a pose of deeply pained remorse, “by one of the beings working to wipe humanity out of existence.” Ember's crimson eyes blazed as he added, “An apology to me for what minor injuries done to my son --”

“Not all that minor,” the boy grumbled. “My clothes were ruined and I spent a night in jail!”

“Shut up,” his father hissed back. Branson Junior pouted but did so as his father said, going back to his 'noble hero' act, “An apology hardly compensates for what's being done to my species as a whole –”

Cynthia growled, smoke flowing freely from her nostrils now. Tephra's eyes narrowed and the white cloth twisted in his claws. Even Volcano looked angered, long tail lashing over the asphalt. Bram cast an eye at the crowd. The Conversion Bureau's supporters, human and otherwise, looked to be getting ready for trouble. The clinic's opposition were cheering.

“Lady Ember,” Bram moved to her side. Branson senior looked at him in annoyance. Bram forced himself to ignore his mounting desire to kick this idiot in the pants. “Mister Branson. You came here to accept an apology. You promised as much. Before anything else is said, that is what needs to be done. That is what we came to do.”

Branson looked from him to Agent Kingman. He simply said, “It would be for the best if this business was completed swiftly, sir. Before someone might try something.”

Bram envied the way the agent could put such a tone of polite menace in his voice. Branson Senior looked from the agent to him to Ember. She stood proudly, temper back under control, fangs sheathed and tail held still.

“Hurry this up,” Ember's voice was cold.

“Okay, lizard,” Branson Senior said just under his breath before turning to the cameramen. “I'm here to accept a well-owed and long-due apology. You may proceed, madam.” He waved one hand at nodded at Ember with a sort of regal disdain that said clearly he didn't value her apology or believe it to be sincere, but he would force himself to be polite and accept his due.

Bram could feel the rising heat coming off of Ember in her fury. However, she merely nodded. She handed the Bloodstone Scepter to Tephra, setting it in his cloth-covered claws. Bram remembered what Volcano once told him, how no dragon but the Dragon Lord could touch the scepter with their bare scales unless they wanted to challenge for rulership. Ember walked up to the Bransons, senior and elder. Volcano moved closer as well, slowly, keeping his long neck arched and head held high. Older dragons might not be able to move quickly on only two legs, but they could at least try to be dignified.

The Bransons looked uneasy as the two dragons, one of them over twenty feet long and both eyeing them coldly, came closer. Ember and Volcano stopped before them. Cameras flashed both nearby and down the street as Ember drew herself up and dropped to her knees before the Bransons, braced on one clawed hand. Beside her Volcano followed suit.

Past them Bram saw Tephra keeping back, holding the sacred scepter away from this scene like he didn't want it defiled by the Bransons' presence. Beyond him stood the clinic staff. Some of them watched in fascination. Many more, Swift Aid Apple among them, looked embarrassed as they watched Ember's humiliation.

“I am Dragon Lord Ember,” Ember bowed her head, voice clear and echoing off the glass and brick facades up and down the street. “Daughter of Dragon Lord Torch, ally to the Princesses of Sun and Moon, ruler and representative of all dragonkind. In the name of my people I apologize to the human known as Anthony Branson the Younger,” she nodded towards the kid, who looked smugly self-satisfied, “and to his sire Anthony Branson the Elder, for what insults I have offered in word and deed and that have been offered by my chosen, Volcano son of Magma, to them both. I do this as the Dragon Lord, to keep the peace between dragonkind and Branson and his kin. I apologize for my insults to them, which were unwarranted,” she coughed or choked briefly. “I am Ember. I have offended. I apologize.” Having repeated her apology three times, as dragon etiquette required, Ember rose to her feet. Volcano followed suit, looking as unimpressed as ever. “I trust we are finished.” She turned away, reaching for the scepter.

Branson senior took her by the shoulder. She froze, claws splaying. The Secret Service and FBI men stiffened like they expected violence. Low angry hisses came from Tephra and Volcano.

“We're not quite done yet, scaly,” Branson somehow managed the muttered insult while keeping a warm and forgiving smile on his face. He turned to face the cameras, holding Ember's claw in his hand in a very obvious oh-look-we're-all-friends-now posture. His son stepped up to her other side. Bram caught how Ember stiffened as he set his arm around her back, low enough to be impolite without being obvious about it. This was too much. He didn't even know he stepped forward until he felt Cynthia's claw seize his wrist to hold him back. Judging by his scowl, Agent Kingman looked as disgusted as Ember must be feeling.

“Now smile and wave for the cameras,” Branson smiled as he spoke, or more like bared his teeth. “Or shall I rethink dropping that lawsuit?”

A slow smile crept over Ember's muzzle. She ground her fangs like she would have preferred to take a bite out of Branson's heart. She gave one single weak wave. Swift Aid Apple's mouth twisted in disgust. Fires burned deep down in Volcano's eyes.

“Now then,” Branson said as he stepped away and out of range. “All that's done. Done here, anyway,” he began to raise his voice for the news crews. He waved to the limo driver, and the driver got in and started his car. Down the street the police began putting the barriers aside to let it out. Branson and son headed for the car. He raised a fist in defiance, a polite finger erect, saying, “But I promise to never cease fighting to uncover the truth behind both the List and the Cure, and –”

And just down the street, beyond the barrier, a van put together from makeshift parts came roaring around the corner and headed straight through the opening as humans and converts alike screamed and scattered. The police dove for cover as it flew through. One officer didn't move fast enough. The van clipped him. He went rolling over the concrete sidewalk and lay still.

Everything started to happen at once. The agents in their suits and more people from the crowd, including two with protester's signs, ran forward to try and get between Ember and the onrushing van. Guns appeared in their hands as they did, mostly pistols but two looked to have those fancy German submachine guns. Swift Aid waved at her staff and pointed at the clinic and yelled, “No questions, get in NOW!”

As she did a pair of the uniformed unicorns among the staff lit their horns and set a light green barrier between them and the rest of the street. They worked it to cover as many of the nearby humans as possible. Bram remembered seeing on TV the shields a powerful unicorn could raise. These looked like a stiff bath curtain by comparison. Volcano and Tephra surged forward in a flurry of wings and scales. “Lady Ember! Behind us!” Ember and Branson senior both looked like they'd been poleaxed. His son shrieked and raced down the street like an Olympic hopeful. He tripped, rolled into some trash bags, rose and ran even faster with egg shells and fruit rinds dripping fro his nice suit. The news crews turned pale as ashes.

“Bram, come on!” Cynthia yanked at his arm. He stood frozen. She growled and flew towards Ember. Come on and do what, he thought, jump in the line of fire?

His eyes widened as the van came closer. Bullets were hitting it to no effect. It kept coming.

Another three seconds and they'd all be blasted into a dissolving crimson cloud.

Then when the van was less then twenty feet away Jade dropped her entire two or three tons of adult dragon out of the sky on it.

The whole street shook. The boom of her impact almost drowned the high-pitched screech of crushing metal as she hammered the everything of the van behind the driver and passenger's compartment into the asphalt. Jade hopped off with a look of savage satisfaction as the armed agents ran forward.

“Get away from the van, now!” Jade snarled at the agents as they shouted the order. “Dragon, move! They may have a bomb in there!”

“Jade!” Ember called from where she stood, with Agents Kingman and Garcia nearby. Bram wondered why she was still on the ground. He imagined they must have told her to stay down. Of course, if this is a trick, she flies, and a sniper's waiting. Cynthia hovered above her as Ember yelled, “Jade, get away from it! The humans need to get the driver of that auto-wagon out!”

Jade sniffed loudly. She took hold of the front of the van's front, claws sinking into the metal. With a shrug she tore it away. Familiar faces were revealed. Winky and Blinky looked stunned. Bram wondered if it was the crash, the dragon, or the half a dozen agents pointing guns at them that left them looking so foolish.

“Do not move!” The agents dragged the two men out, shoved them to the ground and all but sat on them. “If you try anything else, we will shoot you, so stay still!” They looked up and around, wide-eyed and confused. Jade hissed, letting a trickle of greenish flame come from her mouth. They shivered and went still.

Everyone was watching the excitement down the street. The news crews were trying to get close enough to get a few shots, the agents and police were either aiding the injured or keeping everyone else at bay, the citizens were watching from a distance with some trying to get cell phone pictures, and Jade looked annoyed with the whole thing. Bram noticed Cynthia dropping to the street nearby. Ember was reclaiming the Scepter from Tephra, and the Bransons looked like they wanted to leave but didn't dare move. He seemed to be the only person who'd stayed where they were supposed to.

Am I that brave, he wondered, or just that slow to react?

He looked over at the clinic and the shield spell just in time to see Nod dash from the alley he'd used right next door and rush at Ember and the Bransons. He must have worked his way down the back alleys leading to the clinic as the lunacy with the van happened.

Nod held something in one hand and wore an open jacket with a thing like a bandoleer underneath of gray plastic cord. His face bore a look of what Bram could only describe as transcendent joy.

“Demon woman! You too, you lawyer bloodsucker!” Ember and Branson began turning as Nod raised the hand clutching the detonator. Agent Kingman's eyes went wide. He dragged at something in a shoulder holster as Nod yelled, “I'm taking out the reptoid queen and one of their flunkies, I'm a hero –”

Bram didn't think. He reacted. He rushed over, grabbed the hand with the detonator in his scaly claw and squeezed.

Nod dropped to his knees with a sudden shrill whinny of pain. Bram snatched the bandoleer and tore it from him, the plastic cords snapping like string.

“Detcord!” Agent Kingman yelled. He and Garcia were rushing Ember away as fast as they could. Or trying; she resisted until Volcano snatched her up. Together with Tephra, holding the scepter once again, they flew down the street. Kingman yelled back. “Get away! Suicide jacket! It's rigged to blow!”

“What?” Bram looked at Nod, on his knees and sobbing in pain, his shattered hand still firmly in his grip and then at the jacket in the other claw. Somehow Nod still held the the detonator in the same hand Bram was clutching. His grip was holding the trigger down.

Cynthia charged Nod. She yanked him away from Bram, grabbing and holding him. Nod tried to work the detonator but his shattered hand wouldn't cooperate. A moment later Agent Kingman joined her, forcing Nod down to the pavement. He clawed at the detonator. Nod somehow found the strength to play keep away with it.

Bram held up the explosive-laced jacket. “What, what do I do with this?”

Cynthia and Agent Kingman both yelled at once, “Get rid of it!”

Bram crouched and leaped. Wings spread out wide, caught the air and beat powerfully. He flew skywards, fast and hard. The facades of the buildings flashed by as he raced for altitude, then the rooftops of Allentown, and then blue sky all around him. And all the while thinking, Oh Lord Oh Lord, this thing is going to go off Cynthia or whoever is going to lose their grip on the idiot Nod and he'll hit the switch and I have to get this away from everyone or we'll all die.

A thunderous voice whipcracked against his ears.

“Bram! Whatever your name is!”

Blaze flew before him. He pointed at the jacket. "What is that thing?"

"Bomb!' Bram yelled. Blaze's eyes went wide.

“Toss it as far as you can! I'll burn it!”

Bram wadded the jacket into a ball and it a mighty heave to send it flying overhead.

Blaze inhaled deeply and sent a stream of white-hot fire after it. It struck the jacket and – set it on fire. Nothing else. No big bang, no fireworks, just a burning old jacket with some plastic cording inside.

Blaze flew between Bram and the burning jacket as it tumbled back down. He snapped at him. “You said it was a bomb! That it would blow up!”

“Wait, detcord,” Bram slapped a claw against his forehead. He explained to Blaze, “It needs an electric charge or it won't explode. Sorry I made that mistake –”

From far down below: “Hah!”

Blaze was suddenly outlined in white light and with a crash of the loudest thunder Bram ever heard came slamming against him.

For a confused second everything was a tumbling mess of a raging Blaze and a stunned Bram that ended with an almighty crunching of metal and a high-pitched shriek of, “My limo!”

Bram's head was spinning. Blaze lay half atop him. Bram realized that until then he'd only thought he knew how heavy dragons could get. Teens like Cynthia were lightweights. Adult dragons, even young ones like Blaze, were much, much heavier. On the other hand a crushed auto body made a surprisingly comfortable bed when you were a dragon yourself. Nearby people were yelling. Some of them sounded familiar. Out of the corner of one eye he caught sight of Branson senior getting up off the street, the driver beside him. Oh, wait, they'd jumped out of their limo, right? He didn't care.

“Blaze?” He wished his voice sounded stronger. Blaze just gave a deep groan. He gave him a poke with one claw. “Blaze, you can get up and off of me now.”

“Bram!” Several people seemed to be yelling that at once. When did he become so popular? Wait, something just recently happened, didn't it? He wished he could remember what it was. Must have been big. Why was his head ringing? A gold and black scaled dragon head came into his line of sight. “Bram! Are you alive?”

“I dunno,” he told Cynthia. “Am I?” He moved several limbs experimentally, both the usual arms and legs and the new ones like wings and tail. When did he get those? They all felt sore. Cynthia looked at him, her eyes wide with worry. Tephra and Volcano joined her, with Volcano helping Blaze to rise. Blaze shook his head slowly, like he feared it would fall off. Bram sympathized with him. “Looks that way. Am I wrong or did something just happen?”

“Yeah. Something just happened.” Cynthia slumped and sighed, like she always did when she was upset with him. She wanted to know if I was alright, and now she's mad that I am. Women. She looked off to the side. “I think he's concussed.”

“We can handle that,” a pony voice said. Swift Aid Apple stepped into view, with one of the clinic medics, a unicorn. “Don't worry, Cynthia, your highness,” Bram lifted his head and saw Ember standing nearby, Jade with her. Past them both he saw Nod and his two battered friends being put into a police van and Branson Senior on his cell phone and raging about something. Swift Aid said, “He'll be alright. This we know how to handle.”

“Good,” Agent Kingman said darkly as he came up and bent over Bram. “Because, Mister Siegfried? We are going to be talking about how much trouble you can get in for rushing into the middle of an assassination attempt and interfering with federal agents in the course of their duties.”

The unicorn was casting their spell, and the pain was leaving his head. Bram figured that was a good time to pass out. So he did, thinking, wait, didn't I just do this a few weeks ago? I'm getting into a rut.

#

Cynthia and Tephra looked up as the once-again-human Bram walked back into his house. They'd stayed there partly as guards against any further vandalism, and partly because somehow the earlier damage to the widescreen had avoided the DVD player. After a quick trip to first a jeweler and then to an electronics shop, Tephra had his toy back. Watching movies left them with something to do while he was at the local FBI office.

“Well?” Tephra grinned, fang-tips showing. “You were rewarded by them for what you did, yes? That Agent Kingman was happy with us for helping to save the Dragon Lord and everyone else?”

“Happy!” Bram laughed, short and sharp. He walked into the kitchen and returned with a soda in his hands. “I was told I could consider myself lucky not to be in a jail cell right now, and maybe you as well. We interfered with federal agents in the course of their duties and very nearly got a foreign head of state assassinated in the process. If not for the fact that Ember demanded we not be punished – and what we were seen doing on the news; thank heavens they called me 'some anonymous dragon', I don't need any more publicity,” he took a long drink, “we'd probably be waiting for the Veil to arrive in a cell at Allenwood! That's the state prison,” he explained to the confused Tephra. “Well, I guess I would. They only take males there and Tephra would just be deported.”

“Bram!” Cynthia turned the movie off. As Tephra yelped his annoyance she said, “You're woolgathering. Again. Just how much trouble are we in?”

“Not very much.” Cynthia sank back into her beanbag chair in relief. Tephra looked almost disappointed, like he wanted a fight with Uncle Sam. Bram shook his head. “I got officially reprimanded and warned that next time I'd be in real trouble. I assured Agent Kingman and Dragon Lord Ember I didn't want there to be a next time. That lead to Blaze and Jade demanding if I didn't think 'my' Dragon Lord was worth defending.” He leaned back against the wall where once a bookshelf stood. The place was mostly repaired, but the books and pictures were gone forever. The place felt empty without them. “I was finally told to just leave and stay out of the Service's way from now on.”

“What about those three lunatics?” Tephra hissed the words. “Were they set free?”

"And why didn't they use the nitrate for a bomb?" Cynthia asked.

“Winky, Blinky, and Nod? They're going to prison for a very long time.” Bram nodded. “I was told they were ranting about me and Cynthia being treacherous sell-outs and how disgusting it was that we sold out humanity just because were were getting loads of sex from immoral Equestrian monsters.” Cynthia frowned, showing fang. Tephra snorted a quick laugh. “As for the nitrate, apparently they were cheated. Or Nod wasn't as good at explosives as he thought. He could manage the detcord, they stole that from some construction site. Oh, and Branson dropped the lawsuit against the Clinics and Volcano. We're not getting sued for Blaze and me crashing into and wrecking his limousine when the bomb went off, either. Apparently his promise to do so was caught by some of the sound men with the news crews and broadcast. Plus there was that whole us saving everyone's lives from the Three Stooges shown on the regional news.”

“I saw it,” Tephra said, looking proud. “They ran it right after that story about the actor who turned pony and tried to make a herd with his wife and ex-wife and mistress. Oh, and that sports story about how baseball is going to let converts play but football won't because we'd hurt the players when we knock them down.”

“My, we must be important,” Bram finished the soda in his hand. “Anyway, this whole mess seems to be over. I think we can rest a while. I hope.” The phone rang. He froze. He waved one hand vaguely in its direction. “Could one of you get that, please? I'm just not in a mood to speak to anyone else right now.”

Cynthia sighed and got it. “Hello? Miss Apple? Is something else wrong with the Clinic – no? Thank heavens!” Bram leaned back against the wall, looking relieved. “Oh, you got called by the Griffonstone embassy in DC, their new leader Queen Gilda was interested in visiting the New Griflets in this area. And Ember told her how well Bram and we did with keeping her safe. So she wants us for local guides,” Bram wildly shook his hands 'no' as Cynthia listened. “Next week? Isn't that when the Shield of Man group is holding their big local rally in Allentown? You know, that HLF splinter group that Miss Gilda called 'a bunch of dweeb cowards' last week in that TV interview. Oh, the Clinic is already hiring more security for the event, but if we were there it might be more impressive.” She winced as something thudded to the floor behind her. “Yes, Miss Apple, I'll ask Bram to get ready for it just as soon as I can wake him up.”

Working with Dragons

Bram watched a dozen New Whelp dragons high above as they hovered and looped around their twice-their-size instructor Volcano.

It was late Autumn and early morning and being up this high on the main ridge of Hawk Mountain in Southeast Pennsylvania made it feel even colder. He shivered at the chill. Not even standing close to a very warm fire with hot coffee bubbling away on it in two pots helped. In the near distance the slightly higher peak of the Pinnacle rose, with Ecksville down in the valley between them. Volcano motioned towards it. Another three New Whelps flew to it and circled it lazily, their wings outstretched to catch even the slightest wind, before they flew back and rejoined the rest. He wondered if any hikers were on the Pinnacle today and if so, what they thought of the unexpected show overhead.

“The Pinnacle was always supposed to have dragons flying around it,” Bram murmured, remembering the old legends his parents told him. He looked at the other people there, friends and family to the New Whelps riding the skies above. Most were dressed a little better than him, several recorded what they were seeing with cell phones or small video cameras, many just watched emitting little clouds of steam as they breathed in the chill late Autumn air. He looked back up in time to see a few raptors scatter and fly around the dragons. The New Whelps' laughter crashed down on him and the others before it splashed down into the valley beyond. Acres of trees in it still showed Autumn's red and gold, though many were looking sparse by now.

“Golden Eagles, I think,” one of the others said as he watched through binoculars. Bram guessed him to be a Hawk Mountain regular from before the Veil or Volcano taking the New Whelps here for basic flight training. The good boots and pants and wool-lined jacket showed someone who enjoyed the outdoors; the quality of them, someone willing to spend money on it. His features were mostly East Asian, black hair and blue eyes, very neat in his grooming. He lowered the binoculars to refocus them. “I can't make them out for sure. They seem to have been pretty badly rattled by dad and the rest.”

“Sometimes I'm pretty badly rattled by them,” Bram said. “And I live with one. The black-scaled lady named Cynthia. House-mates only,” he said in response to the man's disgusted look. “A friend of my mother from the Topton home.”

“Oh,” The man raised his binoculars to watch his now scaly father as he and the rest soared above. “Your mom's there?”

“No. Dead.” Bram shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the cold. “Mom died right before the Conversion Bureaus opened up. Right before.”

He watched as Cynthia, the sunlight reflecting off of her black scales and gold wing membranes, dropped in a dive with wings tucked in before she unfolded them and flew just above the treetops, leaves magnificent in their crimson and orange and gold. Her laughter snatched at his ears as she flew overhead, loud but still human enough. He remembered how she'd hated using her canes to get around the home, and her first excited words upon coming out from the room where the Equestrian pony clinic staff fed you the potion. All grinning fangs and delighted now-golden eyes and those oddly graceful digitigrade legs working under her. She'd all but danced across the floor. I can walk, and it doesn't hurt any more!

If his mother had lived just a few more weeks, maybe just one... He sighed and remembered what Mom usually told him when things went wrong. Life goes on, will it or not.

Unless you didn't want it to go on any more.

“Oh. Uh, sorry about that.” Looking uncomfortable, the man stepped away and resumed watching. Bram just felt relief he didn't ask any more questions. He checked his watch. They'd been up there for a couple of hours, doing Volcano's drills. Better hope they finish soon so Cynthia and I can get in to work on time before we take the last of her stuff back home.

He glanced over at a parked pair of large trucks. Normally they wouldn't be allowed up here, it was park vehicles only. But the clinic convinced them they were needed, both for the instructor when he wanted to ride and for the gems the New Whelp dragons would eat after their lessons. Its human driver stood nearby, wearing the uniform of the clinics with its sun-and-moon insignia on one sleeve and the hoof over a hand insignia on the other and a handgun holstered at his waist. The clinics took no chances with those piled gemstones. Beside him stood one of the Equestrians, an actual pony, a rough-looking pegasus named Iron Wing who gave Bram the general impression of being ex-military. There was the same sense of controlled discipline he remembered from his uncles, all ex-Marines and Army. The faint scarring along the pegasus' flanks and the burn-scarred leg didn't hurt the impression. A small pile of heavy cloth bags lay behind them both on the ground.

Iron Wing watched the New Whelps high overhead with a grim expression.

“All those dragons,” Bram heard him mutter, not for the first time. “Millions of them all eventually. Where are they going to live and who, what are they going to eat in a few decades?” He noticed Bram's attention. The pegasus looked at him coldly, wings ruffling and muscles working under his coat. Bram turned away. Ponies might be peaceable on the whole but he felt Iron Hoof might be an exception. Angering that pegasus, or any pony, didn't strike him as a good idea. They were powerful for their size.

Bram got the idea the pegasus didn't much like the idea of so many humans becoming dragons. Then again he might not either if he was going to be around in a century or two when most of them, currently human size, hit their first growth spurt and increased to Volcano's fifteen feet long. Let alone if they all lived to hit maximum size of fifty to sixty feet or more. Much more. Volcano had boasted of the ex-Dragon Lord Torch, recently replaced by his daughter. He was the size of a small mountain. Volcano had sniffed when Bram asked him if he meant big like the local Pennsylvania mountains. Not these molehills, human. Real mountains, like walls rising up from the world's belly as high as Blue Sky above, like the walls Tiamat Herself set around the First Lair until her hatchlings were ready to see the world she made for them. Bram felt amusement to think that he'd probably learned more about dragon religion and culture from that exchange than some experts had in the almost two years since the Veil appeared.

Maybe he'd learned more than anyone would before it covered the whole world and ended humanity. At least the ones like him who either couldn't or wouldn't let their humanity be stripped from them. Not for a new world coming after that held nothing for them.

“Here they come!”

Volcano and the New Whelps dropped to earth, wings thumping like great sails as they folded. Bram and the others stepped back. Even through the stone and dirt of Hawk Mountain he felt the heavy thudding of their impact. The sun shined on scales and wing membranes of every color, off golden and ruby and emerald eyes and gleaming fangs. Most of the dragons were nude beyond small money belts with zipped pouches, but nothing showed on their new forms. Or not much. By now Bram could not only pick out the individuals – the highly variable scale colors helped – but also to learn that the ones with roughly squared builds were male and the ones with curved builds were female. Nothing like a human woman's build. No breasts, for one thing, but you could see where they'd once had them. Several hurried to whatever relations or friends were waiting for them, moving with much greater assurance on their digitigrade legs than when they first changed. One muscular blue and green dragon went to Wool Jacket.

“Dad,” the human said. He turned to the table with the coffee and handed him one of the mugs set aside for the dragons. It was shaped like a gravy boat, with a long spout so the dragons could pour the contents into their muzzles. Blue-and-green snatched up the coffee, poured the near ink black stuff into the mug, and took a swig.

“Tastes better than anything we had in Vietnam,” his voice rumbled like thunder trying to be polite. He looked around defiantly as though daring someone to challenge him. Bram simply nodded his politest back. The New Whelps were still mentally mostly the humans they'd been, but looking like you were challenging one was still foolish. Volcano and the bureau pamphlets warned that while they weren't as aggressive as Trueborn dragons, they were still fiercer than as humans.

Wait, where's Cynthia?

“Hey, Bram!”

He looked up just in time to see Cynthia drop down, last of the – flock? She took the landing badly and stumbled forward several steps right into him. Bram braced and caught her like he expected to meet a football tackle. She still almost bowled him off his feet. Cynthia stood a few inches shorter than him, taller than her human form. But her transformed bones and flesh and scales made her and every other dragon almost twice the weight of any Earth-born creature their size.

Cynthia puffed like a steam engine as she folded her wings.

“Cynthia, you're okay?”

“Fine!” She grinned and looked skywards. “Bram, I was flying. Myself. Just me and the sky. A month ago I needed help to get to the bathroom some days. My God, this is wonderful!” She gave him a friendly squeeze. Draconic body heat enveloped him and drove out any chill even as draconic strength left his ribs creaking. He managed not to gasp for air when she let go. “Oh, sorry. Guess I still don't know my own strength sometimes.”

A shadow loomed as a wave of sudden heat spilled over them both, hotter even than Cynthia or the other dragons.

“Then learn it, whelp,” Volcano rumbled. Bram stepped back; dragons found it insulting for him or anyone to stand between a New Whelp and their instructor. The one time he'd forgotten Volcano just snorted at him, hard. No fire, but still strong enough to knock him back and hot enough to make him feel scorched.

If Volcano noticed him he gave no sign. “New Whelps,” Volcano said in his instructor's voice, loud and echoing across the ridge, “you saw what Cynthia did and did not do. Remember always, you are not the humans you once were. Thankfully. Your bones and muscles and flesh are magically reinforced by the gems we eat.” He picked up the cloth bags from the clinic staff and tossed them one after the other to the whelps. Iron Wing and the human guard stiffened slightly. Bram wondered if they were more worried about hungry dragons or about what would happen to them if someone made off with some of those gemstones.

The New Whelps licked their lips, even Cynthia. Long forked tongues tasted the air. The New Whelps grabbed and opened the bags to reveal the contents. Ice-white diamonds and grass-green emeralds and sky-blue sapphires, enough to ransom a city in each bag. They were tossed into draconic mouths, crunched and swallowed like so much rock candy, gone in moments. Only then did Iron Wing and his human partner relax.

“You are stronger than humans. You can fly. Well, some of you can,” Cynthia looked down and grinned shamefaced, “and you have the gift of fire.” Volcano tilted his head back on his long neck and lived up to his name. Flame roared from between his jaws, crimson and wild and alive, shooting almost a hundred feet into the sky. The heat blasted against Bram. He took another step back, feeling the sweat suddenly springing out over his face. Volcano looked back at the New Whelps. “You must be careful as long as you live among members of your former species. It is entirely too easy to injure them by accident.” One or two of the dragons suddenly looked embarrassed. Bram noticed the humans with them took a step back. Volcano continued. “This disgraces you and all of us before the ponies. So you will not do it. Dragon Lord Ember has said so, and she will be obeyed.” Volcano said it like he was telling them the sun rose in the east. He looked around again, his eyes golden torches. “And you, humans, remember how dangerous your changed kin are now. They are young by our standards, and not very powerful as yet, but that will change. Some of you let them live in your lairs. Good. Dragons respect kin ties. But remember,” he raised one claw like any lecturing teacher, “dragons are proud. Independent. We stand on our own and reject luxury. They must find their own lairs soon. Respect them and,” he smiled like a shark, “I hope you join them, us, before the end of all your kind.”

Only after all that did Volcano turn to the small spouted bucket of hard-brewed coffee set aside for him. He picked it up and slowly drained it off. With a hiss of deepest pleasure he set it back down.

“Dragons reject luxury but they'll take coffee,” Cynthia whispered to Bram. Half-hidden grins on the muzzles of some of the other New Whelps showed they'd heard her too.

“Some last things.” Volcano held up one hand and counted off on his claws. “You have graduated. You know the basics of flight.” Bram heard the emphasis on 'basics' before the New Whelps cheered. Volcano lashed his tail against the rocks with a low boom and they fell silent. “You have also been taught how to breathe fire and how to control the instinct – remind your human kin that unexpected surprises can prove hazardous...”

Bram looked at Cynthia. She folded her wings in close. “Sorry about that. It was an old rug anyway.”

Volcano cleared his throat with an explosive rumble. “You will still be given bags of gems for several weeks, until your scales are as hard and your fires as hot as they ought to be for dragons of your size. You will have to return to the clinics to get them. Afterwards there will still be gems at the clinics, but you must pay for them.” Some of the New Whelps and their human relations looked worried at that. Volcano rolled his eyes. "They will be sold to you cheaply. Gemstones are plentiful in Equestria. Not like this world."

That reminded Bram of something.

“Are armed robbers really hitting some of the New Whelps after getting their weekly gem supply? I mean,” Bram hurriedly added as Volcano scowled at him, “have any dragons been robbed like the news has said?”

“You said we were to avoid hurting people,” Cynthia spoke up. The other New Whelps also looked at Volcano for his response. “What do we do if someone tries robbing us of those gems?”

“If some human with a gun or knife tries robbing you?” Volcano smiled savagely, showing fangs like swords. He picked up a nearby stone about the size of a man's chest. Bram guessed it to weigh in at somewhere between seventy and eighty pounds. Volcano made a fist. There was a cracking noise. Gravel poured between his claws. He repeated himself. “If they try robbing you? You are a dragon. Defend yourself. Defend your hoard.” Volcano opened his claw and let dust blow away. “Leave them for the carrion birds.” It would have sounded like a brag from anyone else. From Volcano, it was a statement of fact.

He looked over the crowd. “Also, to celebrate your accomplishments, there will be a party tonight at the,” he scratched along his horns and frowned, “the 'Steel Stacks' in Bethlehem. Other Equestrian dragons will be there. They will see how well you have learned. They will show you something of what we are.” He nodded at Bram and the rest. “Your human family can come as well, if you want them there.” He smirked. “They should know, however, that this will be a party by and for dragons. Accommodations for them may be lacking.” Volcano turned to the piled bags. Only two remained. He picked both up, tilted his head back on his long neck, and upended them over his muzzle. Glittering stars fell into his open maw. Those jaws snapped shut, echoing around the clearing like a gunshot. Bram wondered what it would be like to be caught between them as they closed. He hoped he never learned.

“Remember,” Volcano said as he dropped the bags beside the Conversion Clinic truck. “Tonight at the Steel Stacks. I hope to see you all there, my fellow dragons.” With that he crouched and leaped into the sky. Mighty wings snapped out and caught the air, beat furiously, sounding like sails caught in a high wind. Volcano wheeled and dipped in farewell, and flew off north and east for Bethlehem and the center.

Most of the other dragons also took to the air and flew after Volcano. Family members stared after them as they vanished into the sky in all directions.

“Dad, please come back with us,” Wool Jacket said to the blue and green dragon. He took his father by the shoulder. “The family, we, we'd like to give you a little party before tonight. Abby and Aiden want to see you. They've been telling everyone at school about their grand-dad the dragon...”

“They'll see me,” Blue said, walking up to the edge of the ridge. “Tomorrow. I have work for the rest of today before the party tonight. Electronics and books don't load themselves onto airships for Equestria. Besides, that ride of yours," he nodded at a new-looking SUV nearby, "feels kind of cramped.” He took off, called back, “Tomorrow, I promise,” and was gone flying down the valley along the ridge. Wool Jacket just looked after him and walked back to his SUV, hands in pockets and head hanging.

“I hope they remember to stay low,” Cynthia rustled her wings as she looked after the fliers. “The pegasus ponies at the clinic were pretty firm about that, and so was Volcano. They didn't want anyone flying into another plane from ABE.”

“I can imagine,” Bram muttered. “Well, I guess that's it,” Bram turned to Cynthia as she looked after Volcano. He took a moment to admire the smooth black and golden scales, her golden horns tilting back from her head, and those half folded warm leathery wings. They were among the last ones in the clearing. Everyone else was leaving. A bare handful of dragons with still-human family or friends called goodbye and promised to see her later. “Shall we be leaving, Dian the Beautiful?”

“What? Ugh!” Cynthia put her face in her claws and groaned as they walked over to his weather-beaten compact. He held the door open and pulled the seat forward for her. She carefully folded her wings tight against her back and six feet of black and gold dragon slithered into the back seat. “I never should have told you my father liked Burroughs so much he named me after one of his characters! I'm just glad Mom didn't let him name me Dejah Thoris Dian Stoltz like he wanted. Hey, wait, is my stuff in the back?” She stuck her neck out the window and looked back at the trunk. “I don't want to have to go back to Topton again.”

“Yeah, it is. I got it all last night.” Bram said as he opened the trunk. It was there, her carryall, but just to keep peace he took it out and showed it to her. Cynthia opened it and they both saw her few remnants of eighty years of life as a human: an old WorldCon con book, a single novel by both Norton and McCaffrey, both autographed; photos of her and her long-gone husband at their wedding; her in the mentioned convention costume; and her with his mother in their room at Topton. He hurriedly put that one back in and held the costume photo out. “You showed me those photos of yourself at one of the 1950's Worldcons. You made a lovely Burroughs cavewoman.” He walked back to his door, keeping an innocent look on his face as he got in. “Of course now you look more like a Mahar.”

“Better watch it, human,” she hissed in mock menace. She leaned forward and her muzzle poked up beside him. Hot air blasted his face as she said, “I'm a dragon now. For all you know I might eat you one night.”

“I'd be bad for your health.” He started the car up and began the drive down the long and winding road leading back to Hawk Mountain Road, then 143 South to I-78 East. Bram felt he could drive this route in his sleep by now after almost three months of taking it back and forth four times a week. “And what's so bad about Topton? They treat their people well.”

“It's an old folks' home.” Cynthia shuddered. “It feels, felt, like you're sent there so your family doesn't have to watch you die --”

The car screeched to a stop before Bram even knew he was putting his foot on the brake. A sharp hiss sounded behind him.

“Bram, I'm sorry I brought that up.” Cynthia squeezed his shoulder. Her claws felt sharp through his jacket. “I knew your mother. She knew that wasn't what you and your sister did. She told me more than once.”

“Yeah,” he said a moment later. He looked at her in the mirror. Would he have still loved his mother if she'd turned into what Cynthia was and would become? Why wouldn't he? “But if she could have held on just one more month...”

“She fought her way back from death's door three times,” Cynthia's voice was gentle. She touched his shoulder again, lightly brushed one claw against his cheek. It felt dull but he'd seen it slice stone as smoothly as a razor blade. “I didn't understand how or even why she did it those last few times. There was nothing left in her but the instinct to survive. And it wasn't doing her any good by that point.”

“Yeah,” he finally said as he sent the car forward. There was still an emptiness inside. “I still hate it, though.” Silence stretched on uncomfortably. “Uh, Cynthia, mind if I turn the radio on?”

It was mostly local news and some music. As usual these days the main news topic was the Clinics, the Veil, and the Equestrians. The local Conversion Clinics were converting more Diamond Dogs and dragons now; griffons were also up though ponies were still staying popular. Armed robbers struck one of the trucks delivering gemstones to the local clinics for New Whelps and the human guards had been non-fatally shot. The robbers escaped with almost a hundred pounds of bagged Equestrian gems. A resupply of potions for New Whelps and New Griflets had been smashed in the process.

“I wonder where they'll sell those stones,” Bram mused as he kept an eye on the traffic. “I thought most honest jewelers were agreeing not to touch Equestrian gemstones. Something about trying to damage the economy?”

“Like they can tell the difference by looking,” Cynthia snorted. “And their real worry is ruining the inflated prices they put on those stones. Gems are still gems, be they Terran or Equestrian. They're instant money almost anywhere.” She fell silent as the radio announcer spoke more about the robbery.

“But local Clinic staff has promised that this will not affect any New Whelps, and they are already sending a report and request for restock through the Veil to Equestria,” the speaker, maybe a pony themselves by the tone and timber of their voice, said. “Local police are accepting help from the Equestrian authorities to track down the robbers. They assure the public that there is no reason to believe this is any terrorist activity related to either the PER or HLF, but ask local New Whelps and other convertees to remain careful. And now a word from a new sponsor.” A harsh griffon voice came on. “Hey, New Griflets! Griffonstone is paying top bits for anygriff with technical or engineering and tech-nol-o-gy-related skills,” they worked slowly through those unfamiliar words, “to move to Griffonstone! No use lying, Griffonstone's a mess and we need all the help we can get! But we were great once and we're gonna be great again just as soon as you join your flockmates back home and bring that knowledge with you! Noble titles are a possibility so if you and your mate and cubs ever wanted to be called 'Duke' or 'Baron' here's your chance!”

“Ugh, turn that off!” Cynthia shook her head. She slumped back in her seat, worked around a bit to try and get her wings and tail comfortable, and gave up with a growl. “Or change it to music, anyway! I get so sick of those griffon ads.”

“Maybe if more Equestrian nations gave expats a chance like that conversion would go over better,” Bram watched the road. For once Route 378 seemed devoid of both PennDOT work crews and careless drivers. The Hill-to-Hill bridge was coming up, and after that the bookstore. “Or don't the dragons back in Equestria want the same thing as the griffons?”

“Not according to Volcano.” Cynthia deepened her voice. “'Dragonkind has lived perfectly well without these modern human gewgaws for millennia, and Tiamat grant will continue to do so'.” She sighed. “Some of the other New Whelps want to move to the Dragonlands, live with 'their own kind'. I asked them when the rest of humanity stopped being their own kind, but to be fair most of them don't have anyone left.” She sniffed. “I doubt I'd like it. No books for one thing. And it's basically a tyranny, even if Dragon Lord Ember is as decent as they say.”

“I thought it was an anarchy from what I've read.”

“It's kind of both. According to Volcano, dragons normally do whatever they please but if the Dragon Lord commands you have to obey regardless of your own desires.” She looked out the window. “Anyway, here we are.”

The Moravian Book Store sat on their right. Bram absently ran through the directions in his head. A few blocks down, past the bagel joint and that Irish store, take the turn at the Sun Hotel now with a picture of Celestia outside of it, and put the car in the parking garage.

“It's such a pain getting into and out of that thing,” Cynthia growled after he helped wrestle her out of the car.

“Why not fly there?” Bram asked. “The other dragons fly everywhere.”

“I don't know, maybe I like going with you?” Cynthia just smiled and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. It felt dry and hard, like it was covered with armor. Bram supposed it was at that. “Been a long time since I had young men around me who didn't have thermometers in their hands.”

They hurried in to work along with the rest of the late-morning crowd. They were mostly human, muffled against the Autumn chill. A few ponies trotted along, unicorns and Earth ponies either intent on their business or looking around in interest. One Earth pony pair, a brown-coated stallion with a pompadoured mane and a light pink mare with a styled mane, seemed fascinated. The pink-coated filly with them looked more bored. Tourists from Equestria, Bram thought. He nodded at them as he passed. Their eyes were wide as they looked from him to Cynthia and hurried on their way. He heard the mare saying to her stallion, “It still feels so odd to see so many species all together like this.”

More than ponies were out. Some Diamond Dogs could be heard barking excitedly down the street. Bram and Cynthia passed by the local bagel restaurant. A deer in clothes that tried a little too hard to look working class shook their head at a posted ad about the New Whelp celebration at the Steel Stacks. Or maybe just at the line about 'barbecued meat.' A pair of nearby local college boys in Lehigh University jackets discussed it excitedly. They flashed broad grins as the nude Cynthia strolled by. When Bram scowled at them, they laughed and swaggered away.

“Now, don't be jealous.” Cynthia laughed as Bram frowned. “I wonder how they'd react if they knew my real age?”

A dark-furred and feathered griffin couple with their two human children went walking past. The kids were black, and he guessed the parents to once have been too by their Harpy Eagle heads and foreparts. It was rare but occasionally human ethnicities played a role in the features of the converted. Though Bram knew of a Scots-Irish New Foal zebra, so who knew?

The smaller child, a girl, rode her mother's back while the boy walked alongside his father, both griffins going quad and wearing saddlebags. The girl delightedly drummed her heels against her mother's side. Her mother looked less pleased. The boy was asking his father for something.

“Why can't sis and I get the potion, dad? Danny at school changed when his parents went pegasus, now he flies into the schoolyard every day and everyone thinks he's hot shit --”

“Hey! Language!” The male griffin looked at his son, scowling and raising his crest in irritation. “You and your sister will wait until you're sixteen or if the Veil comes sooner, and not before! And where the buck did you learn to talk like that?”

“From you since you and Mom became griffins.”

Together with the griffins Bram and Cynthia dodged aside as Diamond Dogs raced past, barking a conversation back and forth. The dogs leaped over one man in business clothes reading outside the bagel place, sending his paperwork flying. The griffins squawked after the Diamond Dogs while a passing unicorn helped the man with his papers.

“Just another quiet day in downtown Bethlehem, heart of the Pennsylvania Dutch in the Lehigh Valley,” Bram dryly commented as they walked into the bookstore. “Sometimes I wonder if I've stepped into a city scene from Star Wars.”

“Not enough Jawas stripping landspeeders for that,” Cynthia responded as she closed the door behind her. The bell hanging above it rang loudly as it shut. She snorted, smoke rising from her muzzle. “I swear they put that bell on just to make sure no one can sneak out.”

“It works, too.” Their manager stood before them. She pointed at Cynthia and then at the nearby hanging employee smocks.

“Ms. Stoltz, smock, now,” Cynthia growled but put one on. The manager said, “Don't you go growling at me. This ain't no nudist colony, not yet. You two are mine until four, so I'll thank you to get to work.”

Bram waited until the manager left before saying, “So, you'll be getting yourself to that dragon party tonight? Or will you need a ride?”

“A ride might be best,” Cynthia flapped her wings once, sending a breeze rustling around the room. “I still don't feel up to long-distance travel with these, especially at night. And, well,” she lowered her head, sounding almost nervous. “I'd like to have you there.”

“With you?” She nodded. “As your, your date?”

“Unless they have a new word for it?” Cynthia headed for the storeroom. “See you later, we'll have a new shipment arriving today and they need their power lifter.” She stopped at the door, turned, smirked and flexed one arm. Bram mock-gasped in awe. Cynthia laughed and went inside. As she did Bram frowned.

Mom could have been like that, strong and healthy again. If she'd lived. But she's gone, my family's changed or gone away, and all I have left is – what?

Someone nearby cleared their throat. Bram turned to see the manager make a motion with her head to the front registers. With a sigh he got to work.

The day was thankfully busy and passed quickly. At shift's end Bram waited by the door for Cynthia. This late in the year, the sun was already headed for the horizon. The buildings cast long shadows and the chill cut into him. He huddled into his jacket and watched as the by now all human crowd hurried home from work. Everyone seemed to be hurrying these days. Well, every human. Then again it wasn't like they had a lot of time left.

Hard driving wingbeats sounded overhead as half a dozen pegasi flew over, looping and wheeling and laughing. Three were nude, maybe Equestrians here on vacation or working in the conversion clinics. The other half wore t-shirts roughly reworked to make them fit their owners' new bodies. Two stooped and dove at the crowd, pulling a wind along with them, snatching newspapers from hands and hats from heads. Bram caught sight of one as it flew over him, the shirt bearing the word HUMANITY with a large X over it.

“Watch it!” He yelled at them as they dove low enough to make him duck. The pegasi jeered. Bram's temper tipped over. “This look like the race track to you? This is a city street!”

“Put a sock in it, pal! You're talking to the future, dinosaur!” With a laugh the sky-blue and white-maned and tailed pegasus flew after his friends down Main Street, swinging wide to take the turn by the Old Moravian Church at its end. Mocking laughter echoed back along the street.

But then why not, a cold voice asked inside him. The Veil is coming and humanity is on the way out. They'll get to live in their new forms. Them and those like them, not all of us but most, new races playing amidst all humanity built. I wonder if their grandkids will go to the museums and ask what the humans were? Or will they just put all the literature and sculpture and books away and let it molder in the dark while they fly and sing and play atop our bones?

He shook himself. Oh, stop being dramatic. Remember what those Princesses and other rulers of theirs said. They should save nearly everyone. And no taking territory, no colonies or commanding their 'new loyal subjects' to overthrow our governments. While they're still human governments, anyway.

I hope the New Foals and Whelps and Griflets all read the memo, though. Or that I'm long gone before it becomes something to worry about.

“Hello, thoughtful.” Cynthia popped up beside him. A cold breeze blew across them. She stretched her wings out and a sudden burst of warmth from her dispelled the chill. “My, but you look grim. I hope whatever bothered you wasn't too bad.”

“Just a few pegasi being jerks,” Bram walked back to the car with her. They took the longer way around to avoid the little streets that ran between the offices and hotels. Some of the side streets were already getting dark. Bram remembered those news reports of robberies from that morning. Though it'd take a desperate or well-armed robber to try taking a dragon on. He glanced sidelong at Cynthia, whose smile made her look immune to any worries. It also exposed gleaming fangs capable of biting through diamonds, and the lean muscles that stretched and pulled under her scales that gave her the strength to lift more than her own mass. He remembered some scientists, human and Equestrian, giving reasons involving Equestria having a higher gravity and greater density than Earth so the species that developed there were stronger and tougher than their Terran equivalents. “The dragoness from Krypton.”

“What's that?” Her eyes glittered at him. He explained. She stretched again, yawned widely. “Really? I always preferred Hugo Danner to Clark Kent.”

“Clark was usually the happier one, as I recall.” And Danner was intended to be the first of a new breed of humans replacing the old ones, just like you – oh, control yourself! “Can you bounce bullets like he did?”

“I don't know,” Cynthia's smile faded. She scratched her chin, producing a sound like metal scraping. “Volcano warned us that it might be as much as a year before we reached the normal strength and toughness we ought to possess, mostly because we didn't spend our lives consuming gemstones...”

“Thoughtless of you,” Bram said as they reached the car. She gave a hiss of equal parts annoyance and amusement. Once again the rigmarole of making room for her, getting in and then heading for the highway and home. “So you can get hurt as easily as me?”

“Not really,” Cynthia said from the back seat. He heard her growl and the sound of her scales and tail dragging against the seat as she tried to find a comfortable position. Something slapped heavily against one door with a loud bang. “Blasted tail! Anyway, Volcano said it'd take high-powered ammunition or something as strong as one of us to chance serious injury. And of course something hitting us in the eyes is as dangerous for a New Whelp as for anyone. Or chemical weapons I guess. You know, pepper spray and stuff like that. Though Volcano told us that napalm or white phosphorous just makes a dragon feel warm. He says dragons back home in the Dragonlands sometimes dive into molten lava for fun.”

“Sounds like a pleasant neighborhood.” After that a quiet trip home. He pulled into the driveway. The house looked the same as ever, older than the USA, thick stone walls and small glass windows on the ground floor in the old part and modern construction for the second floor and everything else. His many times over great-grandfather Siegfried may not have been able to leave his family much, but he left them a fine home. Bram opened the door for Cynthia, then got her bags from the trunk and accompanied her to the front door. “You said those gems make your scales stronger. What about your fire? I hope it doesn't get much hotter.” He glanced at a trash can and the scorched remains of a carpet hanging over its side.

“I apologized for that rug already!” She stomped her claw. “Like you never made any mistakes. Anyway, my fire needs to get stronger too. Right now I might be able to scorch someone but Volcano says I, all of us, should be able to melt steel in a year. Some New Whelps are planning to get jobs as welders by then.”

“How about yourself? Going to be Rosie the Riveter with scales?”

“Nah, I'll stay with the bookstore. I always liked being a bookworm.” She smiled at his groan. “Anyway, I need to be getting ready for the party, so if you don't mind?” She walked off to the lower floor bathroom. A few moments later the sound of running water came from the bathroom.

“Try not steaming the bathroom all up again, please.” Bram called. Cynthia's raspberry sounded back at him.

He hoped for a few quiet hours while Cynthia got ready for everything tonight. Bram was curious to see a dragon celebration; hopefully it didn't end with the Stacks being burned down. Now to wait. But first some food, and then a good book and his most comfortable chair.

After the mail.

Looking in the box elicited a groan. It contained a small package plastered with stamps, both Equestrian and American. It was also done up with yellow and pink ribbons. He knew who this was from. He hesitated, decided he might as well get through with it, and opened the box.

Cool crimson fire washed over his hands and face as he opened it, emitted by the hand-size gemstone within. He carefully reached in and the removed the stone.

“Hi big brother!”

A ray of fiery light shot out from it to the center of the room. It increased in size, glimmered, and became the figure of a pink-coated and yellow-maned unicorn. Her mane hung in braids with gemstones worked in them and she wore a dress. Very lacy and frilly, but plain by pony standards.

“Hi Becky,” Bram sighed out as he set the ruby down. He turned and looked for something for dinner. Unfortunately the fridge was almost empty; Cynthia had been hitting it pretty hard. Her still-changing body needed more than gemstones to grow. She told him one of the smaller pleasures about the change was her being permitted to eat what she wanted again. “So, how is everything back in Magic Horse Land?”

“Everything's great with me!” Becky said, almost bouncing for joy. This wasn't her, of course, this was a recorded message playing with her voice and image. It responded to his words but that was it. “It's wonderful here, the Equestrians are eager to learn about modern technology. Princess Twilight wants to set up their own computer network. It's a bit hard to work it with hooves but,” the image smirked as the horn glowed, showing her picking up half a dozen small rods which then tapped out a beat against the wall nearby, “that's not a problem for me, of course. Poor Earth ponies and pegasi aren't so lucky, more's the shame. I'm on the team working with Princess Twilight herself.” Her voice turned smug as she arched her equine neck, proud as some performing Lipizzaner. “She comes and asks me how to set everything up in her palace. I get to tell her what to do. And I'm making a mint doing it; these speaking-spell gems cost an arm and a leg to send back home.” She stopped smiling for a moment. “I hope you appreciate that.”

“Which is what would matter the most to you,” Bram sighed as he pulled an iced coffee from the fridge. A liverwurst sandwich joined it. Truly a meal for royalty. He sank into the old sofa Cynthia used for her bed. It smelled vaguely like a zoo's snake house with a hint of rotten eggs. “How's everything with your pony boyfriend?”

“Oh, and things are going great with Duke Brightflame,” she sighed and looked dreamy, clasping her hooves before her. The image of a unicorn stallion with a red-brown coat and crimson mane and tail joined hers. He looked proud, head held high and horn flashing. His flank bore a crown and crossed scepters on it. Becky gave it a delighted look. “He's such a gentleman. I mean gentlestallion. I work with him every day on linking Equestria up, Twi – I mean Princess Twilight has been working on a spell-driven wireless link back to Earth across the Veil. We need to use magic, electronics work just fine in Equestria but they'd be shorted out going across the Veil unless they're in those For-a-day Cages...”

“Faraday Cages,” Bram muttered in exasperation. “How can someone get computers and not know that?” Becky's image went on, the same as she would if she'd been standing there in person.

“But then I guess you know that, right? I mean, you have some education. Not as much as me, but you did all you could.” Bram fought down a desire to pitch the empty coffee bottle through the smug image. “Anyway, I'm getting married to Brightflame soon --”

He choked and sprayed his dinner. It was so like her in-person behavior that he glanced up to be sure she wasn't physically there. The amused equine whicker and the look of superiority in her eyes left him wondering.

“I wanted it to be a surprise! You'll have a brother in law soon! Oh, when you change – I mean, you won't really just sit around and let the Veil kill you like you were saying when Mom died, right? Brightflame said anyone who did that was a silly fool and he'd never want to be related to such a creature, but of course he knows you won't do that...”

Bram wondered how much glue you could make out of a unicorn duke.

“Well, anyway, when you convert and become a pony, he said he'll find a place for you in his staff. I asked his major dumbo --”

“Majordomo!” Bram rubbed his aching head. How did Becky do this when she wasn't even in the same dimension as him?

“And he said he'd have to know what you can do and I said you're not good for much besides physical labor, really you shouldn't have turned down college to help with Mom and Dad, so then he said he'd be able to take you on as one of Brightflame's cart ponies. Oh, that means you'd be dressed in some adorable livery and get to take Duke Brightflame and me around Canterlot. So at least you won't starve or anything.” She looked off to the side, scowling before looking back at him with a smile. “Ugh! Starlight, that's Princess Twilight's flunky, she needs me for something. I'll have to cut this message short. So be good and I love you and I hope you're not sleeping around with that lizard you said you took in because, really, you know what that would do to my reputation if the other ponies found out I had a creepy brother?” She turned and looked off to the side again, her ears pinned. “I said in a minute, Starlight! I'm sending my brother a message here! Yes, the human one with the dragon! You will simply have to be patient and remember, I'm in charge of this project!” She looked back at him, all smiles again. “Anyway, bye, I'll send you pictures or something of the wedding, tell Mom I said Hi – whoops, sorry, I forgot, bye!” She flickered out and the gem went dark until he called on it again. It laid on the table like a burned out coal.

Bram walked to the table and picked it up, holding it so tightly he wondered it didn't crack.

“Little sister,” Bram flexed his fingers as though closing them around a throat, “when I remember how you strolled out on Mom when she begged for help in reaching the toilet, and left me to find her weeping on the floor, you better hope you never see me again.” He took the gem and slammed it down on the table. He felt childish irritation that it didn't break. Bram didn't relax, even when a scaled hand gently touched his back. The claws prickled through his shirt.

“Your sister?”

“Yeah,” Bram said, slumping. “Just being herself, the same as ever.” He turned. Cynthia's scales gleamed like obsidian in the sunlight coming through the windows. “I don't even know why I bother being angry with her. She couldn't see she'd done the family wrong if you made her.” He offered her the gemstone. “Hungry?”

Cynthia licked her scaly lips and put the gem in her mouth. Bram's words had activated the gem's message again, and Becky's remarks started to play as Cynthia crunched it between her fangs. It sounded like Cynthia was eating her, the garbled words mixing with a sound like gravel being crushed. Cynthia's eyes drifted half shut in delight as she tilted her head back and swallowed. A large bulge went down her throat. It reminded Bram of seeing a snake eat a whole bird. Cynthia belched, sending out a smell of sulfur. Her ear membranes closed slightly in embarrassment and she put one claw to her mouth.

“What happened to my manners! I never used to act like that.”

“I noticed Volcano is pretty, er...” Bram searched for a polite and accurate word.

“Blunt? Crude? Vulgar?” Cynthia said it for him. “He says dragons don't waste time on silly mammalian niceties, they have better things to do with their time.” She stretched like a great armored cat, claws splaying from her fingertips. “He's usually pretty blunt with us New Whelps. Says that mollycoddling new dragons won't do us any good.” She shrugged as she walked over to the sofa. “I have to agree, and I don't think that's just the new draconic part of me speaking.”

“Neither do I,” Bram said as she got up from the sofa and helped her pull it out into a bed. “Reminds me of Mom and Dad; our grandparents too, when they were still here. Though given they let me read all their old SF and horror and fantasy I can't complain.”

“Yeah,” Cynthia curled up on the bed and yawned widely, a long thick tongue curling out and up between her fangs. “Anyway, us old ladies turned young dragons need their beauty sleep. Wake me in time for the party.”

Bram headed for the stairs. He called back, “What if a homesick hobbit shows up asking for directions to the dragon's lair?”

“Tell him visiting hours are ten to twelve, alternate Saturdays, appointment with my secretary.” Her voice was thick and husky with sleep.

Bram took one last look. Smoke trickled from her nostrils as rumbling snores came from the curled up mass of ebony scales touched with gold on the bed.

“Sheer unmatched elegance,” he said dryly. Against the wall was a framed copy of the sole painting of his ancestor who'd founded Siegfried Station and later organized the local men into a unit for Washington.

“Ancestor,” he said to the stocky and scowling Dutchman, “I bet you never had to deal with this.” The picture, being a picture, did not respond.

To a chorus of draconic snores, Bram went upstairs to his bedroom, his books, and some earplugs.