A Dragonling's Magical Christmas

Chapter 1-2

“I thought you were supposed to know how all the power grids ran through the palace,” Mandra complained as he turned to glare at Trelon.

“I do,” Trelon snapped, running his hand through his hair in aggravation. “This time it wasn’t me that overloaded it.”

“No,” Zoran growled in frustration as he stepped out of the dark passageway. “It was Vox and Ha’ven. I could hear them both cursing, and I swear I smelled burnt cat hair. Whatever it was, it stunk up the electrical room so bad that Ha’ven came out holding his nose and coughing. I think you’re going to have to rewire the circuit panel again, Trelon.”

“Dragon’s Balls!” Trelon groaned. “That is the third time this week.”

“Yeah, well, it’s worse than you thought, Zoran,” Creon warned as he and Kelan stepped into the open covered walkway near the central garden. “Vox set off the fire retardant system in the East wing electrical closet.”

Kelan absently wiped at several black smudge marks on his arm. “You might need to take a look at the electrical closet on the second floor of the North wing, as well,” he informed Trelon with a wry grin. “Creon and I might have had a tiny accident in that one, too.”

Trelon’s groan sounded louder, echoing through the night air. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the amused, feminine laughter hadn’t answered it. All the men blanched when Cara’s voice rang down from the balcony above where they were standing.

“You needed to add another grid with the number of lights you have,” she hollered from above. “You can’t put an additional million plus lights on the primary circuit with everything else.”

“There are not a million lights!” Trelon yelled back.

“Uh, Trelon,” Kelan interrupted with a grimace, looking at Creon before turning his gaze back to his brother with a slightly crooked grin. “We might have added a few more since this afternoon.”

“True, but Vox and Ha’ven added more than we did,” Creon hastily interjected when he saw Trelon’s mouth tighten before the corners drooped.

All the men turned when the sound of footsteps, and the scent of burnt hair, reached them. Trelon grimaced and wrinkled his nose. His eyes ran over the spikes of black hair standing up on the huge Sarafin’s head. He couldn’t see if the tips were singed or not, but from the scowl on Vox’s face and the scent clinging to him, Trelon was pretty sure that they were.

“What did you do this time?” Trelon asked in a tired voice.