Once upon a time (Tuesday before last), there lived a dragon. He was not the sort of dragon you are probably thinking of. He did have wings, and a long pointy tail with a long neck to match, and even little lumps where horns would be, just in front of his ears. Unfortunately, that was where his resemblance to most dragons ended, because he was roughly the same size as a Chihuahua, his wings were so tiny that the effect was downright comical, and he was the precise shade of pastel pink that lip gloss manufacturers would call Cotton Dandy and paint manufacturers would call Wistful Dream.

To top it all off, he was fuzzy. Holding him was like holding a warm, slightly squirmy peach.

He was not, as you may have already guessed, a wild dragon. Wild dragons were crimson or ebony or emerald. They were giant, scaly fire-breathers who lived in caves in dramatic-looking cliffs and slept on huge piles of gold. He lived in an apartment with his owner and slept in a little basket with a powder-blue cushion.

She called him Dinkums.

His owner was a witch. She was not the sort of witch you are probably thinking of. While she had powers, they mostly involved things people didn't have any use for, like polishing doorknobs. She spent a great deal of her spare time trying to invent a spell that would automatically change the toilet paper roll when it was empty. She was convinced that such a spell would make her both ridiculously powerful and disgustingly wealthy. Until then, though, she taught water aerobics five times a week at the local rec center.

She liked to carry Dinkums around in her purse while she did errands. He didn't mind the purse so much--it often had yummy forgotten things in it like lint-covered breath mints and crushed packets of saltines--but he hated having other people look at him. Because no matter where they were--sitting on the bus, or waiting at the dentist's office, or in line at the grocery store--people always said the same thing.

"Awwww, isn't he cute?"

Sometimes it was "precious," sometimes it was "adorable," but it all boiled down to the same thing.

Dinkums hated being cute. He hated being pink. He hated being fuzzy. He wanted people in the dentist's office to scream and run away when they saw him. He wanted people in the grocery store to be so desperate to escape that they would leave their carts right there in line, with the frozen pizzas getting flabby and the organic lettuce wilting and the Neapolitan ice cream melting until you couldn't tell which flavor was which. He wanted to be able to pick up the bus in his wicked talons and fly the whole thing away, driver and all, to his cave high in the forbidden mountains.

But he rode in a purse and slept in a basket and ate kibble from a dish with his name on it.

He tried to tell Janet--that was the witch's name--that he wanted to be a real dragon and sleep on a pile of gold. She could understand him when he talked, but understanding someone when they talk is not the same as understanding what they're saying. She got her spare change jar and picked out all the shiniest pennies and laid them on his cushion.

"There you go, sweetums," she said. And she kissed him on the nose.

Lying awake that night, Dinkums decided that sleeping on money wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Unless real gold was softer.

Then he did what he always did when he couldn't sleep. He imagined that his wings were vast, sinewy sails pounding him through the air, and that his scales were iron-hard. He tried to picture what it would be like to draw in a great breath and blow out bright flame. If magic could make a toilet paper roll that didn't have to be changed, surely it could turn him into something magnificent.

And then he got an idea.

Quietly he climbed out of his basket and trotted down the hall to the kitchen. This was where Janet kept her book of spells, mainly because there were a few handy ones inside for putting out fires and taking the burnt taste out of things. But if you didn't say everything just right, you might find that your windows had all disappeared or that everything was suddenly covered in orange fur. So it paid to keep the book close by.

The book was heavy, but he managed to drag it into the little broom closet off the kitchen and turn on the light.

He didn't know all the words, but fortunately this version had a great deal of step-by-step pictures, so he figured he would know the right one when he found it. And then he would learn it, no matter how long it took.

He knew he couldn't ask Janet to do the spell for him. She would laugh and pat his head and give him a treat. She liked that he was little and pink and fuzzy.

Dinkums sighed and turned another page. There were plenty of spells here for turning people into unpleasant things--toads, worms, roaches, talk radio personalities--but nothing at all to do with dragons, except for a spell that was supposed to cure something called creosote cough. He lugged the book back to its cupboard and went to turn on Janet's laptop.

"Dragons," he typed carefully into the search box.

Three hours later, all he'd wound up with was a bunch of children's programming, some sports teams, loads of really bad martial arts movies, and a splitting headache. He logged off and went back to his basket to lie down.

There was nothing else to do, he decided, but go to the dragons themselves. Real dragons were magical; they'd have to have some way to help him.

So he dug Janet's fanny pack out of the closet, filled it with kibble, a package of peanut butter crackers, and a Band-Aid (just in case), and strapped it around himself. It was just beginning to get light outside, and the first bus would be by in less than an hour.

Janet was still asleep. He didn't want to wake her, but he didn't want her to worry, either. At last he went back to the computer, pasted a picture of mountains next to a picture of a dragon, and, with the help of the spell check, typed "HERE. BACK SOON." He printed the page and laid it in his basket. Then he said the magic word to open the door--Janet hated fumbling for the knob when her hands were full--and went downstairs to catch the bus.

The dragon-caves were in the north, so Dinkums made sure he was in the right place to catch a northbound bus. The morning was chilly, and he wondered if he should have brought his little sweater Janet had knitted for him. It would probably be colder in the mountains...

But he told himself he didn't need it. He was going to be a real dragon, and real dragons didn't wear sweaters.

He waited beneath the bench at the bus stop, watching purses. Too small, zipped shut, too small, too full... He was beginning to despair when he spotted a backpack on the ground in front of him. He leapt into it, rattling all the buttons pinned to the outside, just as its owner picked it up again and got on the bus.

It was very dark inside the backpack, and his legs were all tangled up in some kind of cord. Then he stepped on something and heard music playing somewhere far away. It didn't sound like any music he'd heard before. Janet listened to airy stuff that floated around your head. This music jostled and bumped as much as the bus. He felt around, following the cords to their source.

Fifteen minutes later, Skye Sheridan reached into her backpack and pulled out what felt like a warm, slightly squirmy peach--except that it was wearing her earbuds and clutching her purple iPod.

She stared.

Dinkums stared back. He had never seen a human with purple hair before. He wondered if she'd been born that way, like he'd been born pink. But she looked young; maybe she'd grow out of it.

She was still staring at him. Dinkums braced himself for the inevitable: the softened gaze, the pursed lips...

She yanked the earbuds out and glared at him. "Get your own!"

Dinkums blinked. "You didn't say awww."

She raised one pierced eyebrow at him. "Was I supposed to?"

"You heard me!" Dinkums whispered. "You must be a witch."

"Yeah, well, not much of one. What're you doing in my backpack? Don't you belong to somebody?"

"I'm going north to the dragon caves. Where the real dragons live."

"Running away, huh?"

Dinkums' ears drooped. He didn't like to think of it that way. It wasn't exactly Janet's fault that he was cute and fuzzy instead of regal and fierce.

"It's okay." Skye sat him on her lap. "I'm running away, too, sort of. I'm not going back to that stupid school. Ever."

"But they teach you spells at school."

"Yeah, and nothing else." She rolled her eyes. "They don't know how anything works. Something doesn't work, they just turn it into something else. They don't even know how magic works. And I don't think they care."

She pulled a thick black sketchbook out of her backpack. "Look."

Dinkums looked. Page after page of intricate drawings, diagrams, numbers, some scribbled in pencil, some inked carefully with a technical pen...

"See, look at this one." She pointed to a drawing of a leaf. "Here's what the cells looked like at first. And then I said a growing spell, and they looked like this. If we understood how spells work, maybe we could make better ones instead of just putting old ones together over and over."

She shoved the sketchbook back into her pack. "But all the teachers say I'm wasting my time, and I should focus on memorizing spells and doing better on tests, and it's... It's just stupid."

"Where are you going?"

She shrugged. "Not to school. Figured I'd ride to the end of the line and then see."

"You could come with me."

She laughed. "What would I do with dragons? Besides, they eat people, don't they?"

Dinkums gulped. He hadn't really thought that far. He wondered if he should have packed more kibble.

The bus drove on. Skye shared an earbud with him, and he shared his peanut butter crackers with her.

"Maybe I should go with you," she said finally. "I mean, just to make sure you get up there okay. I don't think those stubby little legs of yours can walk that far. No offense."

Dinkums looked at his legs. "None taken."

And when the bus made its last stop at the edge of town, he climbed into Skye's backpack again, and they set off walking toward the red cliffs in the distance.

It was a long walk. Dinkums fell asleep and didn't wake up until Skye tickled one of his wings.

"I think we're here," she said.

Dinkums scrambled out of the backpack and stared up at the cliff face. About fifty feet up was a massive golden door. Although there was a shallow ledge in front of it, he couldn't see any path that led up there.

In truth, the door surprised him. He'd been picturing a dramatic cave-mouth bristling with stalagmites, maybe lit with dragons' magic or a distant lava flow. Perhaps wild dragons weren't quite as wild as he'd thought.

Skye tipped her head back. "Well, I've never even climbed trees. I'm assuming you're no good at that sort of thing, either?"

Dinkums shook his head sadly.

"Okay, gimme a minute, then." She pulled out her sketchbook and flipped through the pages, searching for something. Dinkums crunched a few kibbles while he waited.

Skye mumbled to herself, sometimes holding her place while she looked for another page. Finally she slapped the book closed and nodded. "Okay. I think this'll work."

She dug her iPod out of her backpack and popped the earbuds in. Dinkums thought this was an odd time to listen to music, but then he saw her fingers sketching patterns across the click wheel, and he understood.

"My witch uses a wand," he said.

Skye sniffed. "Old school. Now be quiet a sec. You don't want me to mess this up." She brushed her purple bangs off her forehead and went back to the spell.

Dinkums flicked one wing, then scratched it with his hind leg. His back felt tingly and warm. He wondered what Skye was doing.

She took out her earbuds, put the iPod away, and slipped the backpack on her shoulders again. "Okay, try flapping your wings."

Dinkums flapped once--and shot straight up into the air, so far up that Skye was a purple dot against the red ground. Startled, he clapped his wings against his back and fell.

Skye caught him neatly. "Yeah, that'll work."

"What did you do?" Dinkums asked, awed.

"Enhancement spell. It's temporary, but it should give us enough time to get up there." She clasped her hands around Dinkums' middle. "Nice and easy now."

Dinkums flapped cautiously. With Skye's weight added on, his flight was much easier to control, but he still resembled a drunk bumblebee more than a graceful creature of legend as they ascended to the ledge. He felt the tingling fade from his wings just as the soles of Skye's Converse scraped against the rock.

Close up, the door glittered with jewels set in intricate patterns--rubies, sapphires, emeralds, onyx, and gems neither of them had seen.

Skye looked at the door, then at him. "So... you think we should knock, or what?"

Dinkums looked for a knocker, or a doorbell, or even just a doorknob, but there weren't any, just jewels set in the gleaming gold slab.

"Maybe we have to press it somewhere." Skye put her hand against the door. "Ow!" She jerked back, pressing her fingertips to check for blood. "It bit me."

"Bit?"

"Or stung me. Or something."

Dinkums padded forward and tentatively touched the door. The gems blazed with inner light, and the door slowly pulled itself up into the rock, revealing a sparkling tunnel.

"Maybe I should wait out here," Skye said.

Dinkums gave her his best pleading eyes. That expression had always gotten him extra dragon yummies, a super-long wing scratch, or the privilege of sleeping on Janet's pillow. He figured he might as well use his cuteness to one last advantage before he became magnificent and imposing.

Skye rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay."

The door slid back down behind them. It wasn't dark in the tunnel, but neither of them could tell where the light was coming from. The path twisted several times, until Dinkums would have sworn that they were somehow going back the way they'd come. His legs got tired, and Skye carried him. He felt much braver tucked in the crook of her elbow. He was glad he'd chosen her backpack at the bus stop.

At last the tunnel opened up. "Whoa," Skye breathed beside him.

Dinkums couldn't even speak. This was more like the cave he'd been picturing. Stalactites dripped with glowing golden moss that made the cave as bright as daylight, and all around them piles of gold and jewels reflected that light a thousandfold, gleaming and shimmering: coins, chalices, plates, jewelry, thousands of pieces, each more precious than the last. The most impressive treasure, though, was the great statue in the center of the room, a gold-plated dragon with eyes of emerald, seated on a massive silver throne.

And then it moved.

The dragon slipped down off the throne, its golden scales rippling with light as it stepped to where Dinkums and Skye stood. It lowered its head, stared unblinking at Dinkums for a moment, then swung around to Skye. Its mouth opened, and it seemed to be tasting the air only a few inches from her skin. At last, seemingly satisfied, it turned back to Dinkums and regarded him silently, waiting.

"Um." Dinkums swallowed. "Hello."

Several short bursts of breath flattened Dinkums' wings, and it took him a moment to realize the dragon was laughing. He wasn't sure whether to feel afraid or embarrassed or insulted, but he decided to just make himself as small as possible--which was pretty small, even for him.

"Hello yourself, dragonling." The great dragon's voice was warm and bright as fire. It was also, Dinkums realized, definitely female.

"All who are born of blackened egg are welcome in these chambers," the dragon continued. She eyed Skye. "But it is an imposition to ask us to suffer warmbloods here in the belly of our mountain."

Dinkums didn't quite understand all of that, but he got the message. "She's my friend. She's a witch, too."

"Mm." The queen turned to Skye. "Do you speak, then, warmling witch?"

"Yes." Skye didn't flinch or look away.

"What errand brings a witch into my hall?"

"I just wanted to make sure he got here okay. Why? You guys need a witch for something?"

The queen smiled, though the expression didn't show in her eyes. "We have no need of warmblood powers in these caves."

"I want her to stay." Dinkums gulped as the great golden head swung toward him again. "Er--please. A little while. If she wants to."

The queen regarded him a moment. "And you, dragonling. What set you upon the path to this place?"

This was it. Dinkums stood as tall as he could. "I want to be a real dragon."

The queen craned her neck a bit to peer around him, as if looking for seams or a wind-up key. "You... are not real?"

"I mean--I want to be wild. Big. Like you. You're magic, aren't you? You could change me." Dinkums' tiny wings fluttered hopefully.

The queen smiled, but it was slighter and sadder this time. "I am sorry. That is not the sort of power we have." She paused. "No doubt you have had a long journey. I will show you where you may rest for now."

They were led to an empty cave, and a few minutes later a smaller green dragon helpfully brought a load of gold coins--"just until you get some of your own, of course"--for Dinkums' bed.

"We can stay, then?" Skye asked.

The dragon looked uncomfortable. "He can stay. You must leave by noon tomorrow. It's a great honor, though. We've never had a human in the mountain before. Er--not a live one, anyway." He caught Skye's smoldering expression and ducked out.

Another dragon, this one a little blue female, brought them a golden platter of little bits of roasted meat, along with a silver pitcher of water that tasted of minerals and earth.

Skye eyed the food after the dragon left. "I'm usually a vegetarian, but I don't think they eat much salad around this place. When in dragon-land..." She picked up a piece of meat, regarded it with distaste for a moment, and popped it into her mouth.

Dinkums sat turning a coin over and over, watching his pink reflection waver in its polished surface. Through tear-filled eyes, he looked back at Skye, but she had stopped with another chunk of meat halfway to her mouth. An instant later, she dropped the bite onto the cave floor, yanked out her sketchbook, and started scribbling notes.

Dinkums curled up on the gold. It was actually pretty lumpy, no better than the pennies Janet had given him at home.

Janet. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they still came. Was she looking for him? Had she seen his note? She was always misplacing things; maybe she hadn't noticed it. Once she'd even left him behind in a department store dressing room, and he'd had to wait for her for almost two hours in a stuffy break room that smelled like old coffee and microwave popcorn.

He glanced back at Skye. She had her iPod out now and seemed focused on a piece of meat on the edge of the platter. As Dinkums watched, the meat seemed to waver a bit, almost as if it were melting--and then it was solid again, but it didn't look like meat anymore.

Skye picked up the pale little cube, sniffed it, and bit off one corner. "Yes," she said softly, as if to herself.

Dinkums cocked his head. It smelled like the stuff Janet used to stir-fry with vegetables from the farmer's market. "What is it?"

"Tofu. Want some?"

He wrinkled his nose. Skye shrugged and popped the rest into her mouth, then jotted a few more notes. At last she looked up at Dinkums and grinned. "So," she said casually, "what color do you want to be?"

Dinkums sat, trembling, in the center of the great cave. The golden queen watched from her throne, and the rest of the space was packed with dragons jostling for position, craning their long, elegant necks to get a better look. Moss-light rippled on scales of crimson, emerald, silver, indigo, turquoise, and amber, and the heat of the crowded cave made Dinkums feel a little dizzy. He wasn't entirely certain about making this change in front of everyone. It seemed like something that should be a little more... well, private.

Muttering something about mass conversion, Skye consulted her notes one last time--an action that did nothing to settle Dinkums' nervous stomach--then came close enough to whisper to him.

"Ready?"

Dinkums swallowed. "Will it hurt?"

"I don't know," she said apologetically. "But I don't think so. The core spell I based it on doesn't hurt animals."

"I'm not exactly an animal."

"Close enough. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing, honest. I'd try it on myself if I could."

"You'd make a pretty dragon."

She blushed. "Yeah, well, whatever. Anyway, you're sure, right? Because I don't see any way to reverse this."

Dinkums nodded. "I'm sure."

"Okay. Let's do it."

The room buzzed with chatter, but Skye put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loud and sharp. The sound echoed off the cave walls, and the dragons fell silent at once, except for someone coughing at the edge of the cave.

"Okay, quiet. Please," she added. She picked up her iPod and put the earbuds in.

Dinkums wondered if he should close his eyes. When he did, though, he kept trying to figure out whether anything felt different--were his toes tingling? was that the tip of his nose burning? what if he sneezed and messed something up?--and finally he was so worried that he had to look just to see if anything had happened yet.

He opened his eyes to the sudden, disorienting feeling that he was standing on the top step of a very tall ladder. The cave's ceiling felt entirely too close. He swayed, looking down, but his feet were on the ground--if those were his feet. He stared at the talons, then lifted one up experimentally. Yes, that was him.

He heard the queen's voice. "Bring the mirror."

Two emerald dragons carried a gold-framed mirror between them and set it before him.

Dinkums stared, blinked slowly, then stared again. Looking back at him was a crimson dragon with curving horns, bright golden eyes, and sinewy wings.

He saw something from the corner of his eye. Skye was waving up at him. "So what do you think?"

Dinkums turned back to the mirror, looked at his reflection again, and fainted.

This excerpt and all characters © 2011 Renee Carter Hall ("Poetigress"). May not be reprinted or redistributed without written permission.