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    The Christmas Dragon: Among the Mythos, #1
    The Christmas Dragon: Among the Mythos, #1
    The Christmas Dragon: Among the Mythos, #1
    Ebook71 pages56 minutes

    The Christmas Dragon: Among the Mythos, #1

    By Ruthanne Reid

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    About this ebook

    All Katie Lin wants is to get away from her family: from the magic, from the mayhem, and from the never-ending war. 

    Unfortunately, someone has other ideas, and sends her a box. A box that jumps. 

    The tiny fire hazard inside may just force her back to Wales - and right into the path of a dragon war, the Crow King, and a reluctant elf prince. Sometimes, running away just doesn't work as planned. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRuthanne Reid
    Release dateFeb 13, 2014
    ISBN9780985260026
    The Christmas Dragon: Among the Mythos, #1
    Author

    Ruthanne Reid

    Ruthanne Reid is one of those pesky fanfiction authors who made good, and thus eschews most labels. Except for being a Generation X-er (or maybe Xennial, according to some guy's webpage), a musician who loves music but also carries a ton of baggage about it, a self-taught graphic artist who designs her own covers, a chronic pain warrior, a rabid shipper who's too smart to lay out precisely which ships because of the wars, and an avid reader. Indie author. Spouse of geek. Mother of cats. She/her. Daily pep-talks for #CreateIt22. Owns a lot of things that need to be plugged in.

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      Book preview

      The Christmas Dragon - Ruthanne Reid

      THE CHRISTMAS DRAGON, Among the Mythos book one by Ruthanne Reid

      RUTHANNE REID

      DALLAS, TX

      Copyright © 2014 by Ruthanne Reid

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

      Ruthanne Reid

      www.ruthannereid.com

      Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

      The Christmas Dragon/ Ruthanne Reid. – 1st ed.

      ISBN 978-0-9852600-3-3 (ppbk)

      ISBN 978-0-9852600-2-6 (ebook)

      Duane, you believe I can write even when I can only see my errors. You are, as always, the best.

      One way to stop a runaway horse is to bet on him.

      ―Jeffrey Bernard

      Contents

      THE BOX

      THE STARLING

      THE CROW KING

      MERLIN’S DRAGON

      NO ONE WRITES ALONE

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      ●      CHAPTER 1      ●

      The nine-leaf branch of the Kin, a symbol for the magical people who are part human and part something else

      THE BOX

      The box jumped.

      Boxes are not supposed to jump. It’s a law somewhere, I think. Maybe Guyana. Apparently not in New Hampshire, because the box kept jumping.

      I sat in my idling car, puffs of exhaust rising in my rearview mirror, and stared at the uncoordinated box-dance. Said box was wrapped in the loveliest paper, too, which was a shame, because bouncing on my boot scraper had roughened all the corners and torn one edge. The bow was big and purple and covered in small green somethings. I wasn’t close enough to make them out.

      I didn’t want to be close enough to make them out.

      If I didn’t do something soon, the neighbors would notice. The box probably hadn’t been jumping all morning, or there’d be a crowd. Or maybe it was already on YouTube. I didn’t know.

      So much for a safe, boring life among the Ever-Dying. New Hampshire, you have failed me.

      I turned off the car. Time to go see what invaded my (mostly) magic-free space.

      I did have a little magic, though admittedly I hadn’t used it in three years except to fix my hair on the go, so let’s just say I found myself rusty. Myself, and my wand. It was a little rusty. No, for real. Real wands are made of iron, didn’t you know? Better conductors.

      So there I was in my New England suburb, staring into my trunk at my rusted wand while a box jumped on my front porch, and I will admit I wanted to run away. This situation was so bizarre that I couldn’t help wondering if (a) my family sent it, or (b) this was some kind of horrible, evil trap. Both options were silly on consideration. With one exception, my family doesn’t know where I am, and for another thing, I am absolutely and completely not worth some bad guy’s time. I didn’t even graduate college, for crying out loud.

      The box kept jumping. It might have growled. I sighed, took my wand from the trunk, and hid it in my long winter coat for the treacherous walk to the front porch.

      This time of year, ice covers everything. You’d think that this far north it would be the snow that gets you, but nope—it’s the ice. Ice on top of snow, layered with more snow, and finally more ice to top off this slippery sundae. Even my kick-ass boots only gave me so much traction, and I had to sort of inch my way along the walk.

      My neighbor’s teenage son chose that moment to push the snowblower out of his garage.

      Almost there. Inch, inch, inch—

      Hey, Katie, Kyle called from across the street, and I waved at him and prayed he wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Want me to dig your mailbox out? he said.

      The snowplows had buried it. As usual. Thanks, sure. And tell your mom I owe her a coffee for last week, I said, pouring all my focus into appearing friendly and nice and normal. My footing slipped. I caught myself, arms out for balance, bent over like a really bad skier.

      The box jumped again. Dammit, box, I was almost there.

      What’s that? Kyle said.

      Mexican jumping beans! I announced because I watch too many cartoons.

      And then I fell.

      I managed to grab the porch railing to prevent breaking my ass on the ice, but this was not ideal because Kyle was a good

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