Thousand: Seven Hundred Twenty

makes no sound. Hm, thinks the girl, a little disappointed that looking up at the ceiling reveals no gold rope, no keyhole. She raises one hand and snaps her fingers twice. “Calling something?” says a nasal voice. At her feet, sitting like an attentive dog, its scaly tail stretched out behind it, a dragon yawns. The girl stares into its maw of sharp teeth. Finishing the yawn, the dragon says, somewhat inarticulately, “Came with the angel,” and shrugs in the direction of the door where the angel is rolling the last of the invisible membrane in its hands as it