Daredevil Riders

Choice Less

“We’re what?”

The dishtowels went up in flames. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. What was happening?

“Do this.” Her dad put a hand over his own mouth.

Good idea. She clamped a hand over her mouth while her mom put the fire extinguisher to good use.

Her father pulled a carton of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and set it on the kitchen table. “Don’t talk until you’ve had a few bites. Until you learn to control the fire, this will put it out.”

Sure. Ice cream was the answer. They’d probably have lots of ice cream at the nice mental facility where she’d be spending the rest of her life.

She took the spoon her dad offered and shoveled ice cream into her mouth until the burning sensation disappeared. Her parents sat on either side of her, staring intently. Fed up, she slammed the spoon on the butcher-block table.

“What is going on?”

“You can breathe fire.” Her dad smiled like this was a fabulous discovery.

Her mother’s expression became hopeful. “Do you feel a cold sensation in your stomach?”

“I just ate half a carton of ice cream.” Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.

Flapping her hands like an excited toddler, her mom said, “Concentrate on the cold. Take a deep breath and aim for the sink.”

“She’s a Red.” Her dad puffed his chest out with pride.

“We don’t know that.” Her mom leaned in and touched her cheek. “Try it for me. Just once.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to shoot ice out of your throat like a Blue dragon.”

“Right. How silly of me for asking.” Mirabel concentrated on the cold sensation swirling in her stomach and exhaled. She gagged and coughed like a cat hacking up a fur ball. Three small snowballs were ejected from her throat. They splattered against the wall and slid into the stainless steel sink.

Her father laughed.

“She did good for her first time,” her mother said. “Ice is harder than fire.”

Great, a new skill set. Just what she needed. She rubbed at her sore throat. The pain helped convince her this was real. “Can I have some answers now?”

“We’ll answer all your questions,” her dad promised. “Let’s fix dinner while we talk.”

Mirabel started chopping vegetables for a salad while her dad seasoned the hamburgers and her mom set the table. The normal household chores seemed surreal. The smell of burned cloth hung in the air.

“There are different types of dragons.” Her father slapped the hamburgers into the pan. “Our Clans are classified by color: Red, Blue, Black, Green, and Orange. I’m a Red. Reds are the strongest. We breathe fire. Your mom is a Blue. Blues are the fastest fliers. They breathe ice.”

Okay. For now, she’d go with that basic premise. “What does that make me, purple?”

The sizzling of the hamburgers in the hot pan was the only response to her question.

She set the butcher knife on the yellow plastic cutting board. “Hello…one of you needs to say something.”

Her mom filled the void. “By law, dragons have always married within their own Clans. Your dad and I ran away together. Technically, we’re banished.”

“So, not only am I a dragon, I’m the child of social outcasts. This keeps getting better and better.”

Her dad flipped the burgers and added more salt. “We never told you about our true nature because we’d been taught crossbreeding between Clans was impossible. When we found out your mother was pregnant, we were shocked.”

“Your father means thrilled.” Her mom swatted at him with a dishtowel.

He laughed. “Right. We were happy, but we had no idea what to expect.”

“When you were born with ten fingers and ten toes, we took that as a good sign.” Her mom shrugged. “From then on, it was a waiting game to see if you would show signs of transforming.”

Unbelievable. “You were waiting for me to set the kitchen on fire?”

“When children of our race approach their sixteenth birthday, they come into their dragon powers. Then they attend a private school that teaches them how to handle their new abilities.” Her dad carried the plate of rare burgers to the table.

“Happy birthday to me,” Mirabel muttered. “This better not be my only gift.”

Still trying to wrap her head around the situation, she carried the salad to the table and sat. She half expected someone to jump out with a camera and yell, “Surprise, you’re on TV’s Wildest Pranks.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Which meant this was real. She imagined attending a twelve-step meeting. Hello. My name is Mirabel. I’m a dragon.

Her parents weren’t doing a great job explaining all of this, so it was time to take charge of the conversation. “The man in the bookstore was a dragon, wasn’t he? He told me you were going to ship me off to private school run by a bunch of control freaks. He said I had other options.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” her mom said. “The school situation might be tricky.”

“Why would I go away? You guys can teach me everything I need to know.”

When her parents didn’t reply, she panicked. “I don’t want to change schools. I just started my junior year. I’m in driver’s training. I have a great schedule. Devin Marconi smiled at me yesterday. I eat lunch with people I like. Why would I want to start over?”

“If there’s any way to keep you here, we’ll do it,” her father said. “But we may not have a choice. We’ve done our best to stay off the Directorate’s radar. After today, I’m afraid they’ll come knocking at our door. They’ll know about your visitor. He and his Clan are always protesting something or writing petitions. I’m sure they have him watched.”