Chapter Text
Monday mornings were less than exciting by all means: wake up to a god-awful alarm, shower, shave, brush teeth, and dress. Now, I had no grievance with personal hygiene, I rather enjoyed the act of cleaning myself up from the particularly raunchy night before (nuns in lingerie and appropriately aged altar boys, dear readers, that’s all I’ll say) and becoming squeaky clean and put together for my work. But something has been hindering this process as of late.
After slapping on a freshly pressed tweed suit, I went to my vanity (yes, a vanity, I have no shame in this, vanities are quite useful) and put on the appropriate cufflinks, tie pin, and watch. Well, I would have put on a watch if I could find any of them. Despite my vast collection I found my case rather empty, which, for someone of my status, was ridiculous. Sure one or two could have been nicked by the occasional promiscuous company I had, but I could hardly blame them because one could fetch a pretty penny with any of them. But my entire conglomerate of what could possibly be millions of dollars worth of timepieces? Improbable.
I decided to phone in at work, because despite my job of protecting people from malicious occult magic, very different from normal occult magic mind you, being very important, I would much rather solve this issue sooner than later. Without a watch upon my wrist or in my pocket, I felt positively naked!
“This is Lucifer Box.” I wedged my phone between my ear and shoulder, opening and rummaging through drawers as I continued the routine call. “Transfer to HR.”
“Good morning Mr. Box, how could I help you?” My favourite of the HR folk, Miss Beveridge, answered with her pretty drawl.
“Hi, yeah, I won’t be able to make it to the office today, I think I’ve got an infestation at Number Nine and I’d like to get it dealt with ASAP. Could you have Flarge deliver the physical files to my mailbox and then forward me the digital to my inbox? And if you could bother maintenance again so they’ll get that leak next to my office fixed? They’ve been putting it off for weeks and I’m sure the sweet woman who works in that desk would much appreciate it.” Once I was done inspecting my junk drawer for a single watch, I moved on to the closet and flicked on the light.
“Of course, I’ll get to it right away-” I could hear her berry-red acrylics tapping away at her keyboard before she continued her thought.
“Oh! And before I forget, could you get Flarge look back into the recent trafficking case? I just want to make sure everything is properly closed out.”
“Just sent a memo to him with the other message. Is there anything else I can do for your Mr. Box?”
“No, thank you so much. Have a lovely day Miss Beveridge.” Without waiting for her reply, I hung up and set my phone on one of the shelves so I could properly search for my missing accessories. I had an extensive closet for a man who almost exclusively wore suits, but the majority of the walk-in was empty. And when someone mixes empty drawers and compartments with missing objects, the answer was clear: Kobolds.
If you kept up with my previous instalments, then you would know that I am a wizard from a lineage of very powerful magic users. My grandfather (who gifted me with his pocket watch before he passed, also gone) was the first to tame a multitude of fantastical creatures, my mother had a knack for divination, my father was a wizard such as yours truly. My brother was also a wizard, but he opted for the political sphere. This goes to say, I know my stuff when it comes to magic and all things related. My job was centred around my knowledge of the supernatural and superhuman, so when I suspect those thieving little shites, I am usually right.
And despite my thorough know-how and the building’s history of having those greedy sprites, I was sorely wrong.
Going down the line of unoccupied units I found a few dust bunnies and stowaway socks, but I was lacking in the ‘found watch’ department. Stumped, I stood in the middle of the small room and scratched my head. I could feel pinpricks of heat in my scalp because of the frustration I felt (and the stuffiness that surrounded me), it was bloody infuriating. It’s not like my watches just grew legs and walked away from their case! That was the moment I saw the culprit, the one creature whose job it was to steal shiny things and hoard them.
I was greeted face-to-face by a dragon. Now, dragons in the modern age were less like the giants with terrible wings and fire breath, and more like cat-sized pickpockets who love inconveniencing people. But this one, it was peculiar.
Most of the wild dragons I encountered lived far away from the city, and those I saw in London were pets for little kids and old retired mages who were lonely. This matte-black, moving void of a dragon peered back at me, my phone in its mouth, and a pendant dangled from its neck. An occult artefact, to be specific. I’d seen a million of them in my time at the RA (Royal Academy of Arts, keep up dear reader), and I hated to think that this creature that habitually stole from me was actually a person trapped in that form. Yes, a person.
“Hello.” I greeted the little thing, slowly approaching. Its crystal-blue eyes stayed locked on my own baby blues, seemingly to say ‘piss off, this phone is mine now’ in its own way. “I don’t know who you are, but you must be scared right now, yeah? You’ve got that artefa- er- necklace, and it’s got you trapped in that form, right?”
It blinked at me, as if it understood what I was saying. So a good sign, I suppose.
“How about you give that back and I help you out? I can take it off-” Wrong thing to say Box! The icy stare of the little thing narrowed as it skittered up the wall and slithered past a loose board, with my phone still in its teeth mind you. “Ah fuck.” Unfortunately, I needed that bloody device, otherwise I would have let the little creature have it.
When humans, dear reader, were forced into different forms by those artefacts, their minds would splinter off. Most of the time they were confused and in pain, sometimes they would follow the behaviour of their host forms (dragons, fairies, griffins, serpents and other magi-zoological creatures), other times they would become catatonic, slaves to those who did it to them. This one that took my house as its home was in the second category, it was following instincts, it only knew how to collect and hoard. Apparently my watches were shiny enough to attract its attention, and if I bartered with the little thing, I could trade my collection of loose change for them.
Above my closet was the unused attic. Well, I didn’t use the attic, but my parents were frequent abusers of the free space. I couldn’t tell you how much stuff was up there, and frankly I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with it, but seeing as the only way to fetch my items was to venture upwards… I had to traverse the dusty landscape.
After taking the rickety pull-down ladder up, I found that not only was my attic full of relics before my time, but that there wasn’t a speck of dust. There was a faint presence of a low-level spell on the room, and it was of the protection variety. “Anti-dust spell using a protection sigil… smart.” Smarter than I, at least, surely it was a common practice among wizards and divinators who cared about that kind of thing. “Hullo? Any dragons up here?”
Not expecting a response, I jumped a bit (nearly down the hole where the ladder was) as a frightfully adorable snarl emitted from beside me.
The void of a dragon pierced me with its cold stare once again, standing on a box of books so it would be eye-level with me. “Hi, you must be the one who’s been snatching my watches. Could you show me your hoard? I promise I won’t take anything from it, I just want to see.” Working with these morphs (the technical term for those who have been turned into creatures by these artefacts) was a gift I possessed, because unlike others, I treated them like humans. It was an unfair position for them and I couldn’t give them the animal treatment so many others in the RA would force upon them. “I’ll even trade you if I can have a couple back. My ex left some beautiful gold and ruby necklaces in the jewellery box that you can have.”
It tilted its head at that notion, the pupils that sat in the iridescent blue widened like a cat. So I might have had a deal going, splendid!
“Could I see them first?”
I watched as the gears in its head spun (dear reader I hated calling the beautiful creature an ‘it’ but I couldn’t discern the scale pattern considering how dark it was in colour) so I waited patiently. The tail that was attached to it swiped side to side along the cover of ‘Ancient Magics and Shortcomings of the New Century’ like the pendulum of the grandfather clock downstairs. Dragons, in general, were very intelligent creatures capable of inter-species communication and complex emotion, this one was no exception. Considering the consciousness of a human was jammed inside such a small brain, I could only imagine how clever this one would be compared to non-morphs.
Before I knew it, the little thing gracefully hopped down from its perch and bit at my trouser leg, dragging me forwards. “Alright, I’ll go with you, no need to tear a hole in my clothes.” There was a clear trail in the boxes and long-outdated memorabilia so I could follow my slithery friend. As it came to a stop, lo and behold a good-sized pile of watches and er- my old university shirts. It was this detail that set everything off for me. “You’ve got an egg in there, don’t you?”
The dragon climbed its way up the sizable hoard (it must have been at least three times its height and double its length) and tugged at the ‘R’ in Royal Academy to reveal a bright red dragon egg. So about this, by the time you’ve read this particular memoir you will have learned all there is to know about dragons. They lay eggs that are the same colour as they are. This means that this egg did not belong to this dragon, and to make matters worse, the egg had a weak bioluminescence. In short, this meant that the egg wasn’t warm enough and that it needed to be put in a better spot very soon.
“Your egg is sick, little one.” It peered up at me again, this time with a plea in its eyes, the ‘ears’ atop its head flattened and a pitiful cry left it. My heart ached for the poor creature as it was helpless to do anything without intervention. “That’s why you’ve been taking my stuff, so you could get my attention.” It took the tiny life into its mouth and came up to me, climbing its way into my arms. “I’ve got you, don't worry.”
Leaving the stash of my belongings, I carefully made my way down the ladder and stairs. For a better reference, the dragon fit comfortably in my arms as a small, thin, noodle-like cat with wings, and the egg could be compared to a chicken’s… only with a shell harder than iron that glowed when healthy (thank fuck chicken eggs weren’t like that).
“Mind if I put you down real quick to get the fireplace ready?” There was a reason dragons in tales made their nests deep in mountains or below the earth’s surface, the temperature was perfect for bringing up their young. And the household fireplace was an amazing incubator for modern dragon eggs that lacked mothers to keep them warm.
Though, rather than leaving my presence so I could light the fire, he (I assumed after realising the dragon didn’t have the ability to warm the egg he had) stood on my head as I kneeled to strike a match onto the kindling. It was efficient, but I could have done without the claws digging into my scalp. Above me, I heard a satisfied growl come from the dragon morph as it waited for the fire to roar to life.
“You know, you could have just asked like this to begin with. My grandpa, may his soul rest in peace, taught me how to do this, take care of a dragon egg. He hand-raised his pet dragon, actually. They were so connected that when he passed, the dragon slipped away with him.” I couldn’t believe I was telling a morph dragon about my grandfather, but it had been a while since I talked about the old man and it felt nice. “The pocket watch you snatched was his, but I don’t mind you using it in your nest for now.”
A small coo sounded in my ear as the little thing wrapped itself around my shoulders, comforting me. See? Complex emotions.
“Alright, it’s going well enough now so you should be good to curl up near it. I’ll be back in a moment and we can check on your egg.” He scurried down my arm and settled nicely in the burning embers of the fire, gingerly placing his egg between his front legs and covering it with some bits of smouldering wood. The actions of the little thing reminded me vaguely of a mother hen brooding. And from the light of the flames, I could finally confirm my suspicions of him being… well a “him”. It was like identifying a snake by the shape of its head, only female dragons had a single circular scale on their foreheads while males had two diamonds stacked along their forehead and snoot (which was the correct term! Dragons have snoots, not noses!).
I left the father alone with his egg and began my hunt for dragon-friendly food. They couldn’t have dairy, because it would curdle in their stomachs and make them sick. Grains were an okay snack, but that would fill a dragon up with very little nutrition. I could only imagine the toils that little thing had to go through to fill his belly every day. So, to give him a feast I picked out a steak that I was going to attempt to cook (I am, by all means, the worst chef imaginable) and put it on a plate. Meat was the ideal dragon diet, raw if possible, and despite how small they were, their metabolism ran fast enough to where they would need twice their body weight in meat to stay at a proper weight and healthiness.
“Steak for the tiny dragon.” I presented him with the steak, and right away he dragged it off the ceramic, into the fire, where he could snack on it without leaving his egg alone for too long. “Could I see your egg? Just uncover it for me so I can tell if it needs more heat or not.” And surely, he took a moment to brush the embers from the surface and the bright red had a beautiful luminescence against his black scales. “Lovely, you can tuck it away again.”
Before I knew it, I had spent hours on my laptop with a tiny dragon (with a full stomach) purring in my fireplace. Work had to be done, and I did it rather efficiently considering I was pretty much baking alive in the sitting room. I still hadn’t heard from Percy, but knowing that lad, he must have dumped the copies into my mailbox and dashed away to avoid any teasing or berating from yours truly. I couldn’t blame him, and I couldn’t be arsed to even try my usual antics considering I now had a new responsibility to this dragon and the soon-to-be baby dragon. Honestly, it was exciting.
My grandfather, as I’ve said before, raised a dragon. I was a mere seven years old when the man passed, but I got to see the wonders of his work before he did eventually leave for (probably) Hell. Sure he was a saint in my eyes, but he was less than a holy man in terms of how he treated people as a whole. Animals were his entire life’s work and if anyone got in the way of that… let’s just say the Box lineage had (still has) a bad habit of using illegal techniques on others. But I digress, I was about to have a baby dragon in my clutches, and there was no way in hell I would get rid of them, not even the father. I had to admit that I was getting a touch lonely in the years after my ex-fiancee packed up and stomped on my determination to find a stable relationship, so having a couple scaly companions couldn’t hurt. Besides, I had my dose of human contact through my best friend, brother and work. I much preferred dragons as they couldn’t mock me around every turn.
After my digital work was completed, I all but slammed my laptop shut and threw my reading glasses to the side. “What do you say to a movie, hm? You were human at one point, you must know what a movie is.” The curious little creature only lifted his head from the top of the egg as I spoke. “You seem like the type who enjoys romance movies, a bit soft and a bit dramatic. I know this really good one called Charlie’s House and-” Hold on a moment, that was interesting. “Do you know that movie?” When I mentioned the title, his little ‘ears’ (more like flaps on their head that aided in hearing and could emphasise emotion) perked up before relaxing again as I continued to speak. “Charlie.” There it was again! “Is that your name?” The tilt of his head and chirping croak that he made only confirmed my suspicion. “Well, Charlie, it’s good to meet you. My name is Lucifer, Lucifer Box.”
I ended up moving the telly so he could watch from his spot in the fireplace and I could lay comfortably on the couch without having to strain my neck. Mid-way through the second movie, Charlie made a distressed cry as the fire began to die, so naturally I re-stoked the fire and put another round of sticks (not logs, they were too big and would get too hot for the little egg) behind him. How such small creatures could withstand actual fire would always be a mystery to me, because despite conservation’s best efforts the giant dragons eventually died out, and the small ones have absolutely no genetic relationship to them. Maybe they were always there but us humans were too busy taking over the natural world to see them.
I couldn’t say when I fell asleep, but sometime between the fourth romcom (a guilty pleasure of mine) and the credits of said movie I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, I was being bitten and rudely awakened. “Ow! Hey!” I clutched my injured hand to my chest and saw the little dragon scurry away and frantically scratching at the almost dead flames, the last existing ones barely licking at the air around the egg. “Oh lord, I’m so sorry Charlie, here-” I took a healthy handful of wood chips and strategically sprinkled them around the still-glowing egg, watching as they caught on quickly. “See? All better. I’ll get the rest of the fire going and… shit.” When I began to stock the fire again, I picked up what was the last of my supply and held it out for my companion to see. “This is the last bundle I have, but not to fret, I have someone who can help.”
Completely disregarding the time (it was easily midnight, but I couldn’t care less) I climbed up the stairs, after making sure the dragon would have plenty of heat, and retrieved my phone from the stack of things.
“The hell do you want Lucifer?” Said best friend from earlier, Chris Miracle, answered within two rings. “It’s two in the morning.”
“Well, I know it won’t make sense, but I found this dragon in my attic-”
“A dragon… in your attic…” As a non-magic user himself, he was always confused by my world.
“Yes, and he had an egg, so I’m keeping it warm in my fireplace.”
“You’re insane-”
“Would you just let me explain myself Chris?!” I felt bad for shouting at such an ungodly hour, but it was necessary to get him to shut up. “Look. I need sticks to keep the fire going, and I know you’re about to ask ‘why not logs’ and I’m not going to explain it, just get some sticks, please. Big fat ones if you can.”
There was a moment of silence on the other side of the line before I heard a rustle of fabric. “You better be lucky we’re good friends, I thought about hanging up but I want to see your dragon and its egg. I’ll be there within the hour, bloody prick.” Before I got the chance to thank him, the line went dead.
I was truly lucky to have him as a friend, and until he got to my house, I took a look at all the old (very, old and severely outdated) books in boxes. Now, I could have preserved some of them for history’s sake, but I was careful in picking out the ones that were either factually incorrect or directly offensive (i.e. “English Wizardry and its Superiority”, “Archaic African Magicks”, “War on Western Practices”). I saw the excitement in Charlie’s behaviour as I ripped out a good chunk of a book to put in with the wood, and interestingly he hopped up and took some pieces for himself to wrap around his baby like a little dragon nest. I let him have one of the books so he could tear the paper as he wished and waited until the fire waned to add more.
Of course, I had taken my suit jacket off earlier (the tweed was much too thick for the heat and far too flammable for my liking) and rolled my sleeves up on my undershirt. Not to mention I was sweating like a whore in church, that shirt might as well have been transparent when Chris finally knocked on the door. I opened it to the nippy night air and saw a very tired art professor waiting with two reusable shopping bags full of twigs and sticks. “You are a saint Chris!” Without thinking, I hugged him and snatched the bags from him. “Come in, you said you wanted to see.”
It took him half a minute to process the abuse I had just put him through before he stepped in and stripped himself of his thick (now sweat covered) coat. “Christ Lucifer, it’s like a furnace in here.”
“That’s the point.” He entered the room as I placed more wood behind Charlie and the egg, careful not to jostle them. “See? Charlie, this is my best mate, Chris. Chris, this is Charlie.”
“Hi.” Chris kneeled next to me and smiled as he studied the dragon before him. “Huh, a real dragon. I know a couple of my students have dragons, but not this beautiful.” My little companion cooed at Chris because of the compliment. “Did he just-?”
“Yes. Dragons are clever creatures, and this one is a morph.” I gestured at the necklace that still dangled around his neck. “That there is the artefact that’s holding him in this form.”
His expression softened after I told him this, mostly because there was a huge story in the news about a morph trading ring that was recently busted (the very one I had my ‘assistant’ look into the morning previous). Chris was quite the empathetic creature himself when it came to the treatment of innocent people. “Why haven’t you taken it off? I know you have the skill and ability to do it.”
“He won’t let me. It seems that this baby is more important to him than being human…” Charlie had already gone back to resting his head on the egg once more, eyes shut in comfort. “I couldn’t tell you how long he’s been up in my attic, trying to take care of this little egg.”
Chris sighed, standing back up. “Well the egg’s going to be okay now, right?”
“Should be, I think he got me just in time before it got too weak. And er- sorry for bothering you so early, Chris.”
“Oh bugger that, I got to see a dragon and a dragon egg!” His excitement was cut short by a yawn, and I begrudgingly followed suit (his yawns, specifically, were contagious to everyone). “I might have to use your guest bedroom though.”
I chuckled and gestured upstairs with my thumb. “Go on, I’m going to stay down here so the fire doesn’t go out.” I held up my already injured hand to make a point. “I was given a thorough warning last time it almost did.”
“Yikes- does Charlie have any diseases?”
“Dragons don’t carry disease, they’re the cleanest creatures out there.” A fact, by the way, their lack of hair and general hot-temperament made them invulnerable to disease and a good hypoallergenic pet. “Go sleep.”
“Thanks mate, see you tomorrow morning.” Chris practically lived here at one point, so the guest bedroom in question had a good portion of his clothes and some essential toiletries for the emergency night over. As he shuffled out, I could see his fingers struggling to make out an email to his students, probably telling them that class was cancelled for the day and that he got to see a dragon and an egg (he loved to tell his students things, he was like a father with many children).
As the night carried on, I was awoken by tiny screeches periodically (even after the sun came peeking through the blinds), but eventually I drifted into sweet slumber. I vaguely recall a wispy vision of dear old grandpa as he passed, the weight of his pocket watch in my child-sized hand, the feeling of his eyes on me as he made one last promise to me, that he’d look after me even when he was gone. I came to learn over time that the man I made a hero in my mind was gone for good, I became cynical and stopped believing that there was ‘more’ after death. But maybe, just maybe-
And that was when it hit me. The screeching and warning bites had stopped.
My eyes shot open,I saw the long-dead fire, not a dragon in sight. But something interesting did catch my eye: the empty red shell. When I jolted to sit up, a weight on my chest stopped my movement all together. Blue eyes glared at me, the inky black around them making his expression critical. “Charlie! Where’s the baby? Is your little one alright?” His body began to purr like the engine on a muscle car as he lifted his head up, letting a tiny patch of red show between his forelegs. “He’s so small…” I desperately wanted to reach out and pet the tiny thing, but I knew that would more than likely result in a missing or painfully broken finger. So instead, I carefully sat up so I could get a better look at them together. “Where did you get that egg in the first place? Hm? I know it’s not yours.”
The dragon pawed at the charm that laid idly on his chest, looking at the hatchling.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Charlie, being a morph, made sense. But the hatchling? There wasn’t a way for a new hatchling to be- “Oh god… he’s one of the experiments.”
His ears flattened and eyes narrowed at the word. So it was true. The twice-aforementioned trafficking hustle was also a front for illegal magic, one where twisted magic users would attempt reverse-morphing, or rather giving animals human form. Every recorded study on this magic resulted in horrible amalgamations of flesh, which is why it was banned not long into the 20th century for cruelty towards magic and non-magic creatures. No wonder Charlie saved this little egg, and I couldn’t imagine what horrible things they could have done. I’d have to keep a close eye on his hatchling until it became mature, just to be safe.
“Hey, you’ll never go back, I promise. This is your home now.” I brought my hand close to his head before gingerly stroking his black scales. “I’m one of the people who busted those mages, but you already knew that, didn't you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He pressed into my hand, wanting more attention, but before I could satisfy his request there was another pair of eyes on me. “Morning.” I looked under Charlie’s chin where the other, much smaller, dragon gazed at me with round, stormy eyes.
The tiny thing yawned as Charlie groomed his head, carefully nipping at his soft scales. It didn’t seem to want to look away, despite the vigorous bath it was receiving (young dragons were much harder to differentiate from), and intensely kept eye contact with me. Staring, however, was not something I wanted as a human. Imprinting was a dragon’s first instinct, and without a second dragon-like parent I became a mother to the little thing.
I was in for quite the ride, dear readers, signing off for now.