Senta walked slowly across the parlor, leafing through the letters from the morning post. She stopped and held one up in her fingers.

“Another letter from Lord Dechantagne,” she said. “Shall I burn it, like the others.”

“Yes,” sighed Zoey, sprawled across the sofa, still in her nightgown though it was well past 1:00 PM. “Wait. No, yes, maybe. I don’t know. No, I want to read it.”

The letter exploded in a bright flash, leaving only a single ember, which drifted down to the floor.

“Oops. Too late.”

“Fine. I really didn’t want to read it.” The dragon in human form leaned back and moaned pitifully. “How could he treat me so terribly?”

“You really must snap out of it, Pet.”

“But he broke my heart!”

“Your dragon heart will not be broken by anything as unimpressive as a human boy.” Senta sat down next to Zoey and ran her hand over her hair. “Augustus is just a boy, and boy’s are even worse than men. They are capricious, self-involved, immature little creatures. Forget him. You’ll be better off, I assure you.”

“But I love him.”

“You need to get away for a while. Next week, I’m leaving to spend a fortnight at Dragon Fortress. You must come with me. We’ll do nothing but relax and indulge ourselves. Those lizzies will faun all over you, you know. They’ll treat you like the goddess you are.”

“You just want to push me at Bessemer.”

“I don’t. I don’t even know that he’ll be there. He spends most of his time these days visiting the lizzie cities. And if he is there, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. I promise.”

“Last time I went there with you, I was kidnapped.”

“Well obviously, that won’t happen again,” said Senta. “Between the two of us, there’s nothing in the world to threaten us. Now, I’m going to Bryony’s for tea. Why don’t you get dressed up and come with me?”

“I don’t feel like eating and I don’t feel like watching you torture Bryony.”

“Suit yourself,” said the sorceress, standing up. “Rezesic idium uuthanum tortestos paj.”

With a pop, Senta disappeared from her parlor, only to reappear on the front step of the Baxter’s lovely little cottage. She rapped her knuckles on the door. There was no answer. She repeated the procedure, but still nothing. She turned the doorknob, but the lock was engaged. With a snap of her fingers, she magically unlocked it. Then turning the knob, she let herself in.

The house appeared empty. She walked slowly through the parlor, into the dining room, where she noted the table was set with place settings, but no food was in evidence. She turned and walked down the hallway until she came to a door. She opened it and looked in. Three-and-a-half-year-old Kerry Baxter sat in the center of his bedroom floor, playing with tin soldiers. He looked up.

“Hello little Baxter,” said Senta. “How are you today?”

“I’m hungry.”

She reached into the air and a chocolate biscuit appeared in her hand. She bent down and handed it to him.

“Where is your mommy?”

“Mommy’s sleeping.”

“And where is Sen?”

“She’s not here.”

Turning, Senta continued down the hall, opening another door to see Sen’s empty room. The next door opened into the bathroom. That left only one more door at the very end of the hallway. Senta stopped and knocked quietly. She heard something on the other side, but couldn’t tell if it was words or something else. She opened the door and found Bryony lying across her bed, fully clothed.

“Why Bryony Byenthal,” said the sorceress, stepping to her side. “Why ever are you just lying around when you could be up fixing my tea?”

“I had just finished cleaning up breakfast, when I got the most dreadful headache.” The woman’s voice was barely audible and she began shivering as soon as she stopped speaking.

“Teigor tachthna uuthanum Senta,” said Senta.

“What are you doing? Are you casting a spell on me?”

“Not on you. Rather on my errant offspring. She should be along soon.”

“You don’t need to bother her. I’ll get up and make tea in just a moment.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t,” said Senta.

She reached down and wiped two fingers across Bryony’s fevered brow, bringing them up to examine the blue perspiration. The stricken woman watched, her eyes growing even larger and rounder than usual.

“I have the sweat. I’m dying. Senta, you must promise to take care of Kerry for me. I know you’ll lure Kieran back to you. Just promise me to take care of my little boy too.”

Almost two weeks had gone by and Iolana’s mother was still angry with the sorceress. She sat at the head of the great table while she and the other three women of the house had their tea. With a cup in one hand and a report in the other, she clicked her tongue. Carefully folding the paper, she handed it to Kayden, the lizzie majordomo, who carried it into the other room. Iolana caught the eye of Zandy, another lizzie, nodding to indicate that he should follow. She wanted to see just what was going on between her mother and Senta.

“Garrah, please bring out that new chutney,” she called, more to distract away from Zandy than anything else.

The four women couldn’t have been more different. It was less than two months until Iolana’s fourteenth birthday, but she seemed older. She had always been precocious and now her body was catching up with her mind. With her great waves of golden curls, she was a striking girl. Her ten year old cousin Terra, on the other hand, seemed pale, thin, and sickly though all the best doctors assured that she was perfectly healthy. Her light brown hair, curled each morning, was limp by tea. Iolana’s mother was still a beautiful woman, but stress had taken some toll. Her Auntie Yuah though was one of the great beauties of the colony, with thick dark brown hair and large brown eyes.

“When does Augie get home?” asked Terra in her scratchy little voice.

“The train is scheduled for a 2:00 PM arrival tomorrow, as I’ve told you at least five times,” said Iolanthe.

“She’s excited to see her brother, is all,” said Auntie Yuah. “I can’t wait to see him either—my precious boy. It seems like he’s been gone a year.”

“I really miss him too,” said Iolana, sincerely. “And Father, of course.”

“Yes, it will be good to have them home,” said Iolanthe.

“We’ll need them to run off all the boys,” said Auntie Yuah, leaning forward. “A hundred suitors at the age of thirteen. Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“They’re not suitors,” said Iolana with a frown. “It’s just the New Year’s tradition. And there weren’t a hundred. There were eighty-two.”

“That’s more than any other eligible girl, I’ll bet,” said Terra.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t compared notes with anyone else. And I’m not eligible.”

“Not yet,” said Iolanthe. “But it’s good to start observing them now. Weeding out the weak, as it were. How many of the eighty-two were acceptable matches?”

“None of them,” said Iolana. “None of them are acceptable matches. I’m not looking for an acceptable match. I’m not looking for anyone at all.”

“Well you will have to marry someday,” said her mother.

“No, I won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice anymore. Your father went to a great deal of trouble to provide for your future. He had to have Parliament pass a law, so that his new titles pass through you to your sons, rather than to his third cousin as his closest male heir. He had to get the blessing of the King.”

“This isn’t the dark ages!” shouted Iolana, jumping to her feet. “I don’t give two figs for the King, the Parliament, or the Barony of Saxe-Lagerport-Drille. I won’t be traded around like a prize cow!” She stomped toward the doorway. “Forget the Kafira-damned chutney!” she shouted at the hapless lizzie coming from the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, Iolana almost ran headlong into another lizzie. This one, unlike every other reptilian in the house, or the whole city for that matter, was wearing a yellow sundress, a hole cut in the back for her tail to stick out.

“Why weren’t you at tea?” demanded the girl.

“I’m sstill full from lunch,” said the lizzie in almost flawless Brech.

“Hardly an excuse. Without you there, they all gang up on me.”

“Ssorry.”

“Oh Esther, I’m not angry with you.” She leaned forward and hugged the lizzie. “You can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to Father being home.”

“Yes.”

“I’m just so sick of this house. I need to get out. I need to do something.”

“Croquet?”

“No.”

“Archery?”

“Yes,” said Iolana. “That’s perfect. Have Garrah get out the bows and set up the targets.”

“Shall I get Lady Terra?” asked Esther.

“Lady Terra.” Iolana rolled her eyes. “Yes, we all have titles now. Do go invite Lady Terra to join us. Oh, and find out from Zandy where Kayden put those papers of my mother’s. I want you to read them and tell me what they say.”

“Anything else?”

“Don’t get cheeky.”

Yuah opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for just a moment. She couldn’t wait for the new wallpaper to arrive. It had been ordered all the way from Brech City. Turning to the side, she found Gladys looking back.

“How did you sleep?” asked Yuah.

“Wonderfully.”

“Good. So did I.”

“Last night was wonderful,” said Gladys. “Are you sure you’ve never been with a woman before.”

“I’ve never been, but I’m familiar enough with the terrain.”

“You’re not bothered?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t find women attractive though,” Gladys observed.

“Attraction is a funny thing, when you stop to think about it. I remember being caught up in it when I was young. Every time I looked at Terrence, I felt all squishy. Now that I’m older, everything seems so tame. I see the men chasing after women and the women chasing after men. It seems we want what we don’t understand. A fanny seems like such an uninteresting thing. All things considered, there are many more pleasant parts of a woman—the curve of her chin, the long line of her leg, a thick mane of hair. Yet to a man, it must seem as alien as walking on the moon. And yet he wants it.”

“He just wants it, because it’s convenient to stick his thing in,” said Gladys, disgust written on her face. “Without it, he’ll stick it anywhere it fits.”

“I confess to a certain amount of repulsion regarding the form of a man,” smiled Yuah, “until the event was upon me. You’ve never been married, so you’ve never known the feeling.”

“One doesn’t necessarily follow the other.”

“So you have been with a man?”

“When I was a girl, my parents died—cholera, you know. My brother was older, and already had a family in Mallontah, so it was too far to go to join him. My uncle took me in, but it was not a charitable act, as he was not a good man. He forced himself on me. I thought it was just something I had to endure, and I did, until he wanted to pass me around to his friends. I left, and even though I was only fifteen, the opportunities for work after the Freedonian War allowed me to support myself.

“The Freedonian War?” wondered Yuah. “How old are you?”

“I was born during the Feast of Kafira Mass, 1893.”

“Why, you’re just a girl! I thought you were older than twenty-nine.”

“I’m twenty-eight, actually,” said Gladys.

“Well, I never was very good at arithmetic,” replied Yuah, leaning over and kissing her on the lips. She slid out of bed. “Let’s go down to breakfast. You’ve certainly been good for my appetite.”

At the dining room table, the two women were surprised to find no one else there. There was, however, plenty of food—toast, fried potatoes, tomatoes, white pudding, and something new. Cook had prepared an egg dish filled with peppers and onions and covered with sharp melted cheese.

“This is something like an omelet,” observed Gladys, taking a bite, “but it’s much fluffier.”

Yuah waved for Kayden to step over.

“How was this prepared?”

“It isss lizzie dish,” he said. “In oven.”

“Baked eggs? Who would have thought? Do you know what it’s called?”

“Frittata.”

“Their language is so strange,” remarked Gladys. “You must tell Cook that this is wonderful though.”

“Yes. Give her our complements,” Yuah told the lizzie major domo. “Tell her that she may prepare this as often as she likes.”

“What are we about today?” asked Gladys.

“I’m going visiting, though you are not required to accompany me.”

“I want to come.”

“Very well then.”

An hour later, the two women stepped off the trolley and into the street in front of Egeria’s house. Brech custom and law gave the husband control over all of a woman’s possessions upon marriage, so technically, the home belonged to Yuah’s father. However, Egeria had owned it before their marriage and, more importantly, it so reflected her style and taste that Yuah found it impossible to think of it in any other way than as Egeria’s house. Her father felt the same way about it.

They were greeted at the door by Egeria’s lizzie, who led them to an empty parlor.

“Where is the lady of the house?”

“I tell her you here,” said the lizzie.

“Shall we sit while we wait?” Yuah asked Gladys.

The both sat on the sofa, golden with a pattern of pink tea roses.

“I feel so out of place here,” said Gladys. “It’s like sitting in a museum.”

“I imagine one gets used to it,” said Yuah.

“Indeed one does,” said Egeria, coming down the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting visitors, so you must excuse me if I’m unprepared.”

Light streamed from every window out into the dark night. A group of caudipteryx skirted the edge of the shadows, snapping up insects drawn to the light, and leaving little three-toed tracks in the snow. In the distance, a train whistle sounded, setting several triceratopses to honking. Inside the thirty-room mansion of the Drache Girl, every gas lamp was lit and fires burned in all of the fireplaces. Recorded music played, but not loudly enough to drown out the happy conversation and laughter of the party guests. It was still an hour away, but everyone was excited to see the premier of the New Year. The gentlemen were dressed in black tie and tails. The ladies in their finest evening wear, the current fashion exposing as much of the shoulders and back as possible while their bottoms already enlarged by magnificent bustles, were exaggerated even more so by huge bows or cascades of lace.

“Another beer?” asked Kieran Baxter, waving to a lizzie servant, who was even then weaving through the crowd in his direction with a silver tray loaded with frosty bottles. The lizzies were members of the cold-blooded reptilian native race of Birmisia Colony, on the Continent of Mallon, where the city of Port Dechantagne was located. Ranging in color from light olive to deep forest green, they gave the appearance of an alligator crossed with an iguana, if either had been able to walk around on their hind legs. Thick tails followed behind them, the tips a few inches off the floor.

“I say, Baxter,” said Gyula Kearn, looking around. “I was just telling Vishmornan here that I feel like an old man in this crowd.”

Kearn was an unprepossessing and slightly chubby man in his mid thirties, with thinning blond hair, but easily recognizable for missing his right arm below the elbow. His companion, Tait Vishmornan, was at least ten years older, and looked older still. Tall and gaunt, his still thick hair had long ago gone completely grey, and only the warm glow of the gaslights gave his pasty pallor any hint of health. Baxter on the other hand, about the same age as Kearn, was tall, lean, and well muscled. His red hair and boyish good looks made him a popular subject of discussion among the ladies of the town. He looked around the room.

“We do seem to be the oldest ones here.” He grabbed two bottles from the tray carried past by the servant and handed them to the two men. “At least you have two young and beautiful wives.”

Both men smiled and looked across the room at their wives. Bertice Vishmornan was probably the oldest woman at the party, though fifteen years younger than her husband. Her long blond hair wound up into a bun, she sat on the sofa listening intently to something that Honor McCoort had to say. Honor, a dark-haired beauty despite the scar running down the side of her face, clad in a simple brown dress, gestured with her left hand as she talked. Her husband Geert McCoort, sat next to her, holding onto her right hand like a child holding on to a balloon, as if she might, at any moment, float away. Behind the sofa, Melis Kearn was surrounded by a group of other young women, but there was no mistaking her. In addition to her dark skin and thick mass of black hair, she wore a gauzy Mirsannan gown of blue and gold, and had a thick, gold ring piercing her nose.

“Carry on, gentlemen,” said Baxter, continuing on his circuit through the room.     In the far corner, he found three young couples. Didrika Goose, Tiber Stephenson, Questa Hardt, Philo Mostow, Talli Archer, and Samuel Croffut all seemed to be talking at the same time. It was hard to tell, but the subject seemed to be steam carriages. That made sense, since they were all, at fifteen and sixteen years of age, ready to start driving. Tiber Stephenson and Samuel Croffut were strapping young men, and both frequently were found on the rugby field. Philo Mostow was tall and thin. Talli Archer was a pretty blond girl with a large gold cross on a chain around her neck. Stopping next to them, Baxter waited for their conversation to pause.

“Did you get something to eat?” he asked them.

“Those little meat pies were delicious,” said Questa, her dark skin giving away her Mirsannan heritage, though her clothing and accent were all Brech. “I’m stuffed full now, though.”

“There’s plenty more of everything. Try the little meatballs. You look like you could still eat, Croffut.”

Young Croffut gave a half nod-half shrug.

“I’ll send around more Billingbow’s, too.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind a drink,” said Didrika, a thin, blond young woman with a strong family resemblance to the hostess.

Baxter snapped his fingers in the air and waved to the lizzie who was now serving Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda Water to the Colbshallows, the Shrubbs, and the Hertlings.

“Is Birmisia still all that you thought it would be?” asked Saba Colbshallow, quickly grabbing another bottle from the tray as the lizzie turned to leave. He was a tall handsome man with a slight bend in his nose.

“I could never have believed my life would be so wonderful,” replied Leoni Hertling. “Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to leave Freedonia. It’s harder for girls there now than it was before the war. So when they offered passage to the new land in exchange for six months of service, I jumped at it. But never did I imagine that I would meet such a wonderful man as my Hertzel.”

She wrapped her hands around her husbands arm and squeezed as he smiled happily. Both, like most ethnic Zaeri, had jet-black hair. His was shaved close around his ears, while hers, still very thick, was bobbed just above the collar.

“As fine a man as any woman could want,” said Eamon Shrubb, raising his bottle in salute. Though just as tall as Saba, he was much more heavy set, giving one the impression of a stone wall.

“That was a lovely lunch,” said Gladys, as she and Yuah passed through the foyer and into the parlor, both loaded down with shopping packages.

“It’s the most I’ve eaten in a while, I can tell you,” said Yuah.

She stopped abruptly when she found Zoantheria sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper. She was, of course, in her human guise, wearing a black and white day dress, her long blond hair cascading halfway down her back.

“What are you doing in my house, monster?” snapped Yuah.

“Have you seen this?” asked Zoey, ignoring the question and holding the paper so that the banner headline was visible. “HRH CONSORTS WITH BIRMISIAN WILD WOMAN!”

“That’s not the Gazette,” observed Gladys.

“No, it’s a Brech City paper.”

“Answer my question,” Yuah ordered.

“I just thought you might want to read it, as the Birmisian wild woman in question would appear to be your daughter.”

“What?”

“Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne. That’s nice. They got all four names. That is your youngest, isn’t it?”

Yuah stomped forward, snatching the paper from Zoey’s hands.

“We’re not done,” she hissed, and then started reading. “Dressed like a man! Face paint? What is wrong with that girl? Augie should never have sent her to that lizzie city. It’s made her mind weak. Still, you would think she would have mentioned something in her last letter about going to the opera with a prince—or sent a telegram.”

“Children,” said Zoey. “What can you do?”

“If Augustus wants to consort with you, I can’t do anything about it. He’s a grown man. But until he returns, I want you out of my house.”

“Must we have all this discord?” said Augie, suddenly stepping into the room.

Zoey jumped up and ran three steps into his arms, nearly knocking him over. In a fierce embrace, they pressed their mouths together.

“Really?” said Yuah. “In the parlor?”

“Mother,” said Augie, disengaging his lips, if not the rest of his body. “Zoey is welcome in this house at any time and will be treated with the same courtesy that all guests receive.”

Zoantheria smirked at Yuah, whose eyes and mouth went very thin. A moment later, it was Zoey’s face with a very similar look as Dr. Megistus followed the young lord into the room.

“What are you doing here!” she hissed.

“Do you know one another?” asked Augie. “He’s not a relative, is he?”

“He’s another dragon?” wondered Yuah. “In my house?”

“Everyone settle down!” ordered Augie. “Gladys, take my mother upstairs. She’s overwrought.”

“I’m not overwrought and I’m not going anywhere!”

“And you,” continued Lord Dechantagne, looking at Zoey. “Yes, he is a dragon, but he’s one of the good ones, like you.”

“What makes you think he’s good?” she snarled.

“This,” said Augie, holding up a brown vial.

“What is it?” asked Gladys.

“It’s an advanced healing draught. Not only is it more powerful in every respect than the regular potion, Dr. Megistus assures me that it will cure the Blue Sweat.”

“I made no such assurance, Lord Dechantagne,” said Dr. Megistus. “I merely said that I believe it will cure the dreaded disease.”

“I have faith in you, Doctor.”