Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher: A Magic Shop Book Read online

  Jeremy felt both relieved and frightened when his fingers finally closed on a quarter. "Here," he said nervously, holding up the coin.

  Mr. Elives snatched it away. "Stand still," he said. "I have to get something."

  Jeremy stood. In fact, he felt as if his feet had been frozen to the floor. He had no idea how much time went by before the old man returned carrying a yellowed piece of paper, which he folded into a square, then tucked into the box next to the sphere.

  He handed the box to Jeremy. Then he reached forward, grabbed him by the shoulders, and looked straight into his eyes. After only a few seconds Jeremy wanted to break the stare-down. To his horror, his eyes seemed to be locked in place. No matter how he struggled, he couldn't look away.

  "Follow the instructions exactly," whispered the old man. "And for Ishtar's sake, be careful. If you fail to care for this properly, you will have me to answer to!"

  Then, as if the whole situation were an annoyance he wanted to be done with, he snapped, "Take the side door. It will get you home faster."

  Clutching the box, Jeremy ran out the door. When he stopped to look around, he found himself on Maple Street, not far from his house.

  Now how did I get here?

  For the life of him, he could not remember. One minute he had been in that weird shop. The next— here he was, less than a block from home.

  At least he was safe. Howard and Freddy rarely came this far from the center of town. Of course, living out here meant Jeremy had to walk farther to get to school than most of his friends. But the fact that he had a backyard that was more like a back field made up for it. The place had been a working farm once and his father, who was a veterinarian, used the main barn as an office.

  Jeremy tucked the box under his arm. Watching carefully for Howard, Freddy, or Mary Lou, he crossed the street and headed for his front door.

  When he entered the house, he was nearly overwhelmed by Grief—which was what his family called their golden retriever. The bounding dog greeted him with an explosion of enthusiasm that almost knocked the box out of his hand.

  "Down, Grief!" he yelled, as he battled his way past the big dog's thumping goodwill. "DOWN!"

  Grief paid no attention. But then, he never did.

  Jeremy sighed. His parents had a small kid— why couldn't they have a small dog? Holding the box over his head, he finally managed to put it safely on top of the piano. Then he led the bouncing dog to the kitchen, which, as usual, was occupied by a surprising number of cats.

  Sliding one of the cats away from the pantry door, Jeremy found a chew-bone. He tossed it to Grief, who ran off, growling happily.

  Retrieving the box, Jeremy headed up the stairs. A pile of clean clothes blocked his doorway. His mother had been leaving his laundry outside his door ever since the morning three months ago when she had stepped in a vat of papier-mache that was sitting in front of his dresser.

  "Driving to work every day is dangerous enough," she had told Jeremy that night. "I don't need to try to survive crossing your floor, too."

  He stepped over the laundry and closed the door behind him. Though he was eager to examine the sphere and the paper the old man had given him, a chorus of eager squeaks told Jeremy that his animals wanted to be fed.

  With a sigh, he placed the box on his desk and started the rounds of his room. Peering into each of the dozen or so small cages that lined the shelves and walls, he made sure that the mice, gerbils, hamsters, and guinea pigs all had food and water. The guinea pigs, who already had plenty of food, wouldn't stop shrieking until he gave them more.

  Animals fed, Jeremy sat down to study the ball. Shoving aside a stack of unfinished drawings, he placed the box in the center of his desk and took off the lid.

  It's like a kaleidoscope, he thought, as the colors swirled in the light of his desk lamp. Except you don't need to look through a tube to see it.

  Marveling that the old man had sold him such a wonder for only a quarter, Jeremy reached out to touch its glossy surface. With a cry of surprise he pulled back his hand.

  The ball was warmer than before. Eying it nervously, Jeremy unfolded the paper the old man had tucked into the box. Probably directions for keeping it clean, he thought, as he spread the paper out on his desk. But when he looked at it, he blinked in surprise.

  A picture of a dragon stretched up the left side and around the top corner of the page. A burst of flames extending from its mouth separated into fiery letters that said, "How to Hatch a Dragon's Egg."

  Jeremy frowned. What kind of fool does that old man think I am?

  The whole thing was ridiculous. But it was also

  intriguing, so he decided to read the rest of the page, which had been written by hand in a script that was loose and spidery.

  How to Hatch a Dragon's Egg

  The egg you have just purchased has already gone through a long aging process. It now needs but two things to be ready to hatch—the light of a full moon, and the words of a true friend.

  To quicken the egg, take it outside at midnight on the night of the next full moon. Lift it to the moonlight and whisper:

  Full moon's light to wake the egg, Full moon's light to hatch it; Midsummer Night will crack the world, But St. John's Day will patch it.

  Expose the egg to the moonlight for at least three hours, then await the results.

  You have been entrusted with a very special creature, Jeremy Thatcher. Treat it with care, for its safety depends upon your willingness to follow these directions exactly.

  It goes without saying that secrecy is essential.

  Good hatching!

  —S. H. Elives

  Jeremy felt the hairs at the back of his neck begin to prickle. How did that old man know my name?

  he wondered. He was sure he had never mentioned it.

  "Hey, Bub!" said a voice, making him jump.

  The voice came from a speaker mounted on the wall next to his desk—part of the intercom system his dad had installed during the last burst of what Jeremy's mother called "Herbert's occasional electronic enthusiasms."

  "Hey, Bub," repeated his father. "Are you there?"

  "I'm here," said Jeremy, somewhat reluctantly.

  "Well, you shouldn't be. You should be here, getting your chores done."

  Despite the admonishing words, Dr. Thatcher's voice was cheerful.

  "Be right there," said Jeremy, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  Slipping the instructions under a pile of his drawings, Jeremy headed out of his room and down the stairs. With Grief bouncing at his heels, he ambled down the winding driveway, past the pair of small barns, to his father's veterinary office. Stepping inside, Jeremy found his father shoving vitamins into a ferret.

  "Hold still, ho-o-old still," crooned Herbert Thatcher to the squirming mass of brown and yellow fur in his hands. "Ah, there's a love!"

  Jeremy reached out to take the ferret.

  "Hey, kiddo," said his father, handing over the animal. "How was your day?"

  Jeremy put the ferret on his shoulder. The action gave him a chance to think about his father's question.

  "Complicated," he said at last, squirming a bit as the little animal licked his ear.

  Dr. Thatcher raised an eyebrow, his way of requesting more information.

  "Well, for one thing, Mary Lou Hutton wants to kiss me."

  Dr. Thatcher wrinkled his nose. "That's what you get for being so cute."

  "I'm not cute!"

  "Okay, you're ugly. Put Farrah in her cage and go feed the cats. I've got one more patient to see before I can knock off for the night."

  Jeremy caged the ferret, then found the cat food and began filling the dishes. In the next to last cage crouched an enormous orange-and-white cat with tattered ears and a swollen eye.

  "Hey, Pete," said Jeremy. "How ya doin'?"

  The cat—whose full name, according to his owner, was "Fat Pete, Porkus Extremus"—was in the office at least once a month to get stitched up after one of his fights. While
today's eye problem was new, the tattered ears had been that way for years.

  Jeremy reached through the bars to scratch behind Pete's ears. The cat responded by clawing his hand.

  Jeremy pulled back. "Why, you rotten . . ."

  "Jeremy!" called his father from the other room. "What's the rule?"

  Jeremy sighed. "There's no sense in getting mad at a cat for being a cat." He knew it was true, but he stuck his tongue out at Pete anyway.

  After all the animals were fed, Jeremy and his father walked back to the house. The sky was dark with clouds, and in the distance they could hear a rumble of thunder.

  "When's the next full moon?" Jeremy asked suddenly, as they reached the back door.

  Dr. Thatcher, who was apt to burst into song whenever something reminded him of a lyric, threw back his head and sang, "Full mooooon brings empty heart—"

  "Dad!"

  Dr. Thatcher paused. "I don't know," he said. "But it can't be long. Go get today's paper."

  "I don't think a full moon counts as big-news, Dad."

  "Just get the paper."

  Jeremy got the paper. His father showed him the almanac on the inside of the first page. It told when the sun came up, when it was going to set, what time the moon rose and set, and other equally trivial things.

  "They're not so trivial when you want to know them," said Dr. Thatcher. "Anyway," he continued, pointing to the almanac, "to answer your question, the next full moon is tonight."

  "Tonight!"

  Dr. Thatcher glanced at his watch. "Starting in about two hours," he said. "Assuming it doesn't rain."

  Jeremy swallowed. He didn't really believe the thing upstairs was an egg. But if he wanted to know for sure, he'd have to start tonight. Either that, or wait another whole month.

  Leaving his father, he went upstairs to look at the ball. He picked it up and held it for a moment. It was warmer than ever. Pulling out the directions, he made up his mind.

  Tonight he would try to hatch a dragon.

  Three - Hatchling

  Jeremy stared in misery at the rain pounding against his window. A streak of lightning sizzled through the dark sky. Seconds later a roof-shaking clap of thunder made Grief jump onto Jeremy's bed and start to whine.

  Jeremy felt like whining, too. Though he was far from convinced that the thing he had bought in the magic shop was really an egg, he was still nervous. The directions said to expose it to the next full moon.

  "But what—" he whispered to the window, "what if the next full moon never shows up?"

  His worries were balanced by the feeling that the whole thing was nothing but a hoax—a joke being played by a weird old man with a warped sense of humor. Even so, Jeremy whispered the hatching poem to himself as he crawled into bed, repeating it until he was sure he had it memorized.

  "Full moon's light to wake the egg," he was saying when he heard his parents' footsteps on the stairs. "Full moon's light to hatch—"

  He fell silent as a crack of light appeared at the door. It was his mother, peeking in to see if he was all right.

  "Good night, sweetheart," she whispered, as she did every night, thinking that he was asleep and could not hear her.

  The house settled down, but Jeremy couldn't. Sounds drifted through the darkness: a cat bounding across the kitchen, the squeak of exercise wheels as his pets raced in place through the night, the patter of rain at the windows, the occasional sizzle-boom of lightning followed by thunder.

  And then, at five minutes to midnight, silence.

  Jeremy sat up in bed. The rain had ended as suddenly as it had begun. Moonlight was flooding through his window.

  Breathing softly, not moving, Jeremy listened. When he was satisfied that the house was completely silent, he climbed out of bed, slipped into his clothes, and picked up the bag he had packed earlier. It contained the egg (still in its box), a towel, and a small windup clock.

  Feeling slightly foolish, he tiptoed down the stairs. The kitchen cats twined around his feet, begging for a snack. Ignoring them, Jeremy slipped out the back door.

  The night air smelled of the rain. The wet grass, a little long because—despite his promise—Jeremy had not mowed yet this week, sparkled in the moonlight.

  A huge moon floated above the treetops. In its light, the whole world seemed to be made of black and silver.

  The high, frantic chorus of the spring peepers almost covered the sound of the wind as it moved through the newly opened willow leaves.

  Jeremy's heart pounded wildly with the sense of magic flooding the night.

  By the time he found a place he thought would be free of shadows for the next three hours, the grass had soaked his legs all the way to the calves.

  Hoping that neither of his parents would happen to wake and look out their window, he took the egg from its box, lifted it toward the dazzling moon, and repeated the poem he had memorized earlier:

  Full moon's light to wake the egg, Full moon's light to hatch it; Midsummer Night will crack the world, But St. John's Day will patch it.

  A tendril of gold light trickled through Jeremy's mind, making him shiver.

  What was that?

  Shaking his head, he took out the towel and spread it on the grass with his free hand. Then he placed the egg on top of it. Next, he twisted the key in the back of the little clock, and set it to ring at exactly 3:15 a.m.

  Now everything was ready except Jeremy himself. After a few minutes of standing ankle deep in the wet grass, looking at the egg, and listening to the peepers, he pulled one of his mother's reclining lawn chairs over to the towel. He shook as much water off it as he could, then settled down to watch over the egg.

  Lying on his back, he could see the dark forms of bats flapping their way through the lesser darkness of the night. Beyond the bats lay the stars. He began to look for constellations. As he was picking out Draco, the great dragon that twisted between the Dippers, he drifted off to sleep.

  In his dreams, Jeremy ran from Mary Lou Hutton. But no matter how desperately he pumped his legs, his body wouldn't move. Mary Lou kept getting closer and closer, her giant lips smacking with the kiss of death. She was about to grab him when the clock began to jangle. Jeremy slammed off the alarm automatically. Then he opened his eyes and sat up with a shout.

  The moonlight dazzled and confused him. "Where am I?" he whispered.

  When he finally remembered why he was outside, he turned to the egg and blinked in surprise. While the shifting of hues had been slow and subtle before, the colors were now swirling across the egg in a way that should have been impossible.

  He picked it up in awe. What was he supposed to do now?

  Wait, according to the directions.

  But how long?

  As if in answer, the egg shook in his hands. The dancing colors froze in place. He heard a scratching sound. Suddenly a single, sharp claw pierced the shell. The tiny talon sparkled like a jewel in the moonlight.

  Jeremy cried out. His first instinct was to drop the egg—maybe even throw it. Taking a deep breath, he forced his hands to stay steady.

  Moving slowly, he bent to put the egg on the lawn. But when his fingers brushed the soaking grass he stopped. "Maybe I shouldn't get you wet," he whispered.

  Standing again, he held the egg in front of him. He wondered if he should take it inside. After all, the old man had told him to care for it, and if it hatched out here, he might lose whatever was hatching.

  But maybe I'm supposed to lose it, he thought, feeling fairly certain that whatever was coming out of the egg wasn't the kind of thing one would keep for a pet. I sure don't want to go inside with something that's going to have us for supper.

  Yet whatever was in the egg couldn't be very big. Somehow it didn't seem right to leave a baby out here to fend for itself.

  "Inside it is!" he said aloud. As he began to run toward the back door, shining chips of shell fell into his cupped hands. "Hold on," he whispered, as another claw appeared. "Just hold on. We're almost there."

/>   Shifting the egg so that he could carry it in one hand, he opened the door as quiedy as possible. Entering on tiptoe, he eased the door shut behind him. A kitchen cat stared defiantly from the forbidden counter; Grief was nowhere in sight. Still on tiptoe, Jeremy climbed the stairs, the egg twitching and jerking in his hand.

  In his bedroom, he placed the egg gently on his desk. Then he crossed the room and turned the bedside lamp on low. Returning to his chair, he watched in fascination as the gleaming, diamondlike claws continued to chip away at the shell.

  Suddenly a scaly red arm stretched into the light. Now the hole in the egg began to grow faster. Within seconds, the head appeared.

  Jeremy gasped. Despite everything that had gone on, despite the magic shop and all its strangeness, in his heart he had never really believed that what was inside the egg was anything more exotic than a lizard. But with its plated chest and winged shoulders, the creature that now emerged from the shell could only be one thing. It could only be a dragon.

  The wings hung limp and crumpled at the dragon's side. At first Jeremy was afraid something was wrong with the animal. But then it started to twitch its shoulders. Soon the wings began to lift and fill. Except for the fact that they were bright