Icefire by Chris D'Lacey Page A

into the kitchen when Aunty Gwyneth’s gritty voice floated out.
    “I understand my accommodation is settled at last?”
    “Yes,” said Liz, moving around the kitchen doing clattering little tasks that seemed to reflect a shortness of temper. “So no more repeats of last night’s incident.”
    A brittle laugh escaped Aunty Gwyneth’s throat. “You disappoint me, Elizabeth. I thought free-spirited dragons were your specialty. Gretel was made by your hand, after all.”
    The fridge rattled open. In a tone that could have been cooled by it, Liz said, “When Gretel left this house her auma was untainted. Whatever ‘tricks’ she performs are due to you.”
    “Ah, yes, the auma,” her aunt said drily, as if shehad swallowed a piece of cotton. “You’ve been rather busy in that department, haven’t you? A special dragon here; a special dragon there. All with the very special Pennykettle spark. Why is it that you have so much ‘spark’ at your disposal? I never have managed to work that out.”
    “I’ve told you before, I don’t know,” said Liz, and the bitterness in her voice was almost feudal. It was clear that her feelings about her “aunt” ran deeper than mere annoyance at the imposition of having to house an uninvited relative. “Is that why you’re here? To audit me?”
    “I was called,” said Aunty Gwyneth, “by a wishing dragon.”
    “What?”
There was shock in Liz’s voice now. In the hall David’s heart began to beat so hard it was almost throwing Bonnington into the air. He switched the cat to his opposite shoulder and put his eye to the crack of the door.
    Liz was frowning in disbelief. “Called? By G’reth? That’s impossible. Lucy can’t be advanced enough tomake a true wisher. Besides, David wouldn’t know what to say.”
    Aunty Gwyneth put her fingertips on Liz’s shoulders and pressed her gently into a chair. “Be calm, my dear. Perhaps you underestimate your daughter’s talent? She has clearly inherited something of your … gift. As for your dreary tenant, he was curious — about the tear of Gawain.”
    “Oh, and that would bring you running,” seared Liz.
    “Do not mock me,” Aunty Gwyneth hit back. “We need each other; it’s always been the way.” She picked up an apple and turned it in her fingers. David blinked and looked at it twice. He could have sworn it had just changed color: from a pale pinky red to a soft yellow green.
    “I am intrigued,” said Aunty Gwyneth, her voice floating again, “to find myself drawn by this dragon’s call. It remains to be seen, of course, what part I have to play in attempting to grant your tenant’s wish.”
    “No.” Liz shook her head fast and hard. “This isnonsense. There’s been a mistake. If we were meant to know where the tear is hidden, you would have found out long before now. Go back. There’s nothing for you here, Gw —”
    Aunty Gwyneth stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Oh, but my dear, you must not be so hasty. The universe has strange ways, does it not?” She let her hand drift sideways, catching the curls of Liz’s red hair. “So beautiful. So like Guinevere herself.” She dropped her hand and stared Liz in the eye. “The boy has done you a surprising service. You will be thankful of my presence before the full moon rises.”
    From the doorway, David saw Liz start. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Aunty Gwyneth’s voice came circling like a hawk, low and steady, cold and bewitching. “I sent Gretel into your den last night. And before you think of it, she quickly subdued the foolish little dragon you employ to stand guard. Among your trinkets, she found an egg.”
    “It’s just a bronze,” said Liz.
    “It’s been quickened,” said her aunt, “and claimed by your dragon.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. That can’t happen.”
    “It can,” said Aunty Gwyneth with a whip of her tongue. “The girl your tenant brought into this house has the quickening gift. You must have sensed