Notes:
Sorry for not updating this in a timely fashion. I'm going to be going back to updating once a week from now on. And right now, I'm having a conflict regarding my confidence as a writer. Doesn't help that my life is a wreck.
Pain overloaded her and Lena collapsed, seeing stars before her eyes until the whole scene went black. The last time this had happened, she'd bitten her tongue and tasted blood. Now, she curled into a ball, whimpering in pain as she endured Magica's abuse. If she could just choke out the name, maybe Webby could enlist Scrooge into tracking down and eliminating Magica as a threat.
"Magic...magic…" she pushed past her clenched lips. She couldn't get the full name out. "My aunt Magic-"
Webby collapsed beside her and cupped her cheeks in her hands. In contrast, Webby felt warm and pulsing with life. Lena was pretty sure she felt clammy and unpleasant to the touch, not that that had ever stopped Webby before. And...there was the blood filling Lena's mouth.
Magica's cackles echoed through her mind and Lena clenched her eyes shut tighter. The pain came in waves, coursing through her and sending shocks throughout her body. She was gasping for breath; it felt like Magica was squeezing the air from her lungs, although she knew that was only in her mind.
Stop...stop...she pleaded.
((Have you learned your lesson?)) Magica said coldly. ((Or do I need to punish you again?))
Lena's cheeks were wet with tears and she was ashamed. Magica had enough control over her for her not to embarrass herself in certain ways after an attack but didn't care to stifle all the reactions. This was not the first, nor would it be the last time Webby had seen her best friend down on the cobblestones and whimpering in pain.
"Lena!" Webby cried. "Lena, come back to me! Lena!"
She was aware of movement around her, but she was too weak to open her eyes to investigate. Her hand sought Webby's and she squeezed. Again Lena's feelings were wrapped up in shame, affection for Webby, and self-loathing for what she'd inevitably have to do. Years of friendship and pining down the drain when Magica willed it. Lena hated herself with a vengeance.
Blood was trickling out of her nostril; the attack had abated for now. She shuddered with the after-effects. Magica's attacks never came and went. They were like earthquakes and always had aftershocks. Lena had curled tightly around herself as if to defend herself from invisible blows. Webby pulled her in tight against her.
"Is there anything I can do?" a male voice inquired.
"She'll be okay," Webby said, though she didn't sound convinced that that was true. In her position, Lena wouldn't have been either.
Whether the man left or not, she didn't know.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Webby pressed. "You kept saying 'magic'; I know it was a magical attack, but it seemed like you were talking about your aunt...your aunt has magic?"
My aunt did this to me, damn you, she thought, but couldn't say. The geas prevented her from speaking it aloud.
If Webby guessed it, it would enable Lena to break the geas. However, after years of these attacks, Lena had little hope that she would. It seemed Lena was fated to endure them until one of two things happened. One, she betrayed Webby and gained the precious items that Magica sought or two, Magica went overboard and "accidentally" killed her niece. Lena was betting the latter was more likely now.
The man had returned and pressed a glass of water into Lena's hand. Webby helped Lena sit up and she drank a little, swishing the water around in her mouth before spitting out an alarming amount of blood. She hadn't bitten her tongue clean through, but it she'd come pretty close. She shuddered.
"Perhaps you ought to come into my shop and rest," the man suggested. Lena opened her eyes and waited for a second for them to focus. The shopkeeper was a portly man with light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and dirty-blonde hair. He wore a forest green tunic and black breeches, along with comfortable loafers. His expression was kind.
"I'm fine," she insisted, getting unsteadily to her feet. She swayed and clung to Webby, both because of her feebleness and because she wanted to feel her against her.
She handed back the glass and, after a few more assurances, this time from Webby, they were on their way. As always after a mental attack, Lena was withdrawn and shaky. She wanted nothing more than to return to her lair and hide out, but she didn't want to disappoint Webby. Plus, she had the sense that her time with Webby was growing short.
They made their way to the sweets' shop and Webby still held her hand. Lena wasn't sure whether she was doing so innocently or was wholly aware of what was going on. She still hadn't figured out whether Webby had feelings for her or whether she was oblivious to everything. The latter pained her, but not as much as the impending betrayal would.
Maybe that was good in a way. If Webby didn't have romantic feelings for Lena, then cutting ties with her after she stole the elixir and the coin shouldn't be problematic, yes?
"You know, the time for choosing mates is gonna be soon, after the coming of age party," she said. "Scrooge didn't want to throw me a party last year, but since the boys are having one this year, it made sense to group us all together."
Lena choked. Though it shouldn't have, Webby's offhand remark had alarmed her. On the surface, the comment meant very little. But the thought of someone else pairing off with Webby sent alarm bells ringing through her.
Her aunt's words floated to the surface of her thoughts. "But who cares? Certainly not you. You were just using her, right?"
"What's wrong?" Webby asked, spying the look on her face and noting her reaction. "Lena?"
She wanted to fling herself off the highest wall she could find.
"It's nothing," she lied with a serene smile that hurt her face. Unfortunately for both of them, Lena was a rum liar and Webby almost never caught her at it. Then again, after being raised in the castle alone for years before Scrooge met and reconciled with his family, Webby wasn't adept at social interactions. It made things easier when it came to manipulating her, which Magica was always eager to point out.
"Really?" Webby asked. "You've been acting weird all day."
Lena's tail swished back and forth, an unconscious gesture betraying her nerves.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to be my date to the ball," Webby suggested. "I mean, I'm not really supposed to have one, seeing as I'm one of the guests of honor/partially responsible for the party, but I'd really like it if you were. Plus, Granny can probably look the other way for it. She likes you, you know."
Yay. The trained assassin couldn't sniff out Lena's duplicity. What a happy thought.
She waited for Magica to weigh in, but the sorceress seemed to be done with her for the time being. It was comforting to be alone with her thoughts, but also unnerving because she didn't know when Magica would pop up again next. She wasn't looking forward to it.
It dawned on her that she'd been holding Webby's hand for at least ten minutes. She yanked it away, hating the loss of warmth and the feeling that she'd been stabbed in the chest for denying herself. This was pathetic. She'd been pining for Webby for what? Six years now?
"Lena?"
Too much time had passed without a response.
"I'll be your date," Lena said. Webby cocked her head curiously at her.
"You don't have to be if you don't want to," Webby said. She brought her hand up to caress Lena's cheek and Lena's knees weakened. She had a sudden urge to kiss her, right there in the middle of the street. The way the sunlight shone on Webby's golden hair, the brightness and cheer of her and the unattainability were driving her insane.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" she pressed. "I love you. I hate seeing you suffer."
"I love you too," Lena murmured and the truth of it made her absolutely miserable.
"You show up here in the middle of the night and you expect me to welcome you with open arms?" Scrooge demanded. He stood in the middle of his bedroom with Goldie in the doorway. The argument might've been more convincing if he hadn't been half-dressed and she in a negligee. Goldie leaned against the doorframe and smirked.
"You certainly did last night," she purred.
"I…" he stopped, losing his train of thought as he remembered their tumble in his sheets. Goldie smirked. He glowered.
"Scroogie, you can deny it all you want, but you and I have chemistry," she said and sashayed her way back into the room. She let a strap slip down and reveal a little cleavage. She wasn't playing fair.
"I'm not denying that," he retorted. "My problem is that afterward, you invariably betray me!"
"I have no plans to betray you at this moment," she informed him. She put his hands on her bare shoulders. "C'mon, Scrooge. You know you've missed me."
"That's beside the point," he snapped, though he could feel his resistance weakening. She had that effect on him. Whenever she was near, he thought with another part of his body and they both knew it. Her smile was so smug that it irritated him.
"What if I promise to be good this time?" she purred.
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" he demanded, stepping back to put space between them. Dressed as he was in his boxers, his interest was obvious. Her gaze swept down and back up with a predatory smile. He huffed, folding his arms across his chest.
In human form, he nonetheless had grey scales along his cheeks, though he didn't sport the tail that sometimes marked half-breeds. He had a little paunch, although he compensated for that by being rather vigorous in other activities so that even though he was immortal and nearing his hundred and fiftieth birthday, he had the stamina for a much younger man. Goldie had taken advantage of that last night.
"It'd be nice, for a change," she said. She sashayed her hips and pressed herself against him from behind.
"I'd be more convinced of your good intentions if you weren't trying to seduce me again," he growled.
"What makes you think that?" she returned. "I'm just reminding you of my assets."
"You are not playing fair," he growled. He stepped away from her. "Now, why are you really here, Goldie?"
"Oh, if you insist," she said, pouting and stepping in front of him. "It's only a small matter and I'll be on my way. Unless you want me to stay?"
"There's no point in expecting you to stay," he snapped. "You'll just run off whenever you've gotten what you want."
"And what makes you think that isn't you?" she purred.
"When has it ever been me?" he countered.
"Oh, don't sound so pitiful," she said and then grinned wickedly. "You didn't sound like that last night."
He was doing his best to ignore his libido and folded his arms across his chest. "What do you want?"
"There's a lamp, perhaps you've heard of it? It's supposed to grant the user three wishes," she said.
"You know I don't like magic," he scoffed, but his attention was riveted to her. He watched the way her chest rose and fell and the sparkle in her eyes. Admittedly, his attention flickered further down her body more than was strictly proper. But he was in private and the boys were elsewhere.
"Yet you have magic you won't use," she pointed out. "We all do, as dragons."
"I don't see the point in using magic when I can earn my way through life without it," he countered. "Magic is just a cheap short-cut to real, hard work. What makes you think I'm interested in this lamp?"
"You're paying attention to me, for one," she said. "For another, you've been staring at my face for the last five minutes instead of elsewhere."
"I can't leave Dragonburg right now," he said, shaking his head. "There's an important vote coming up."
"For what?"
"Whether we should drag out Magica from hiding," he said. "Technically, she's the third richest dragon around here and her seat has been vacant for years. If she doesn't appear at the next meeting, it'll be forfeit."
"Magica," Goldie said, contemplative, frowning. "There's a name I haven't heard in years."
"Aye," he said. "She's been quiet for too long. That's never a good sign."
"Didn't you trap her in dragon form?" Goldie said and then her lips twitched. "Or so the story goes."
"I did," he agreed. "But she's known to hold a grudge and she's bound to want the elixir and coin to restore her true powers and form."
"Your plan is to what? Lure her out with promises you'll change her back, even though you have no intention of doing so?"
He smirked back. "Something like that. She doesn't have her powers, so about all she could do is spit at us."
"You sure know how to treat a lady," she said, tossing her head. He watched her golden locks cascade down her back. Oh, to hell with it. He grabbed her and she grinned back at him. One more time couldn't hurt. Besides, she understood the nature of their relationship. It was about give and take...and not trusting one as far as the other could throw them.
Huey was in charge of constructing the guest list, as well as arranging the party. Of course, for a party this big, he'd required help, but the red attired boy had insisted on double-checking the party planner's work. Dewey and Louie decided to stay out of Huey's way. When things weren't proceeding perfectly, the oldest triplet was tense and difficult to deal with. Louie preferred to stare at his phone and Dewey, well...he had other concerns.
It would've been impossible to navigate a world without technology, at least for Louie. Dewey didn't know what his younger brother would do without a phone in hand. Mark Talons had single-handedly crushed the opposition, so almost everyone had a Talons phone, except for a few people who held out or, like Uncle Scrooge, clung desperately to flip phone. (Flip phones? Was he living in the Middle Ages?)
As always, Dewey paused before his mother's portrait, hanging in the main hall. It'd been sixteen years since her plane had crashed into the rainforest and although Scrooge suspected foul play, he hadn't been able to locate her. With Webby's help, the triplets had managed to pinpoint her location and five years ago, they'd rescued her. She hadn't been quite the same, though. Her spirit of adventure was gone and her mobility too. Della Dragon was an entirely different creature, quieter and less prone to gallivanting around.
Some of that might've had to do with her being wheelchair bound. While she wouldn't give specifics, Dewey knew she'd been injured either shortly after the plane crashed or in the aftermath. Scrooge was currently enlisting the top healers to repair the nerve damage and they seemed to be making progress, albeit agonizingly slow. Dewey wasn't sure she'd return to normal even when she could walk again; the spirited daredevil standing in humanoid form atop a ship mast while confronting pirates felt more like a work of fiction than a possibility.
It didn't take him long to find his mother. She was reading in the solarium with, to his surprise, one of Webby's favorite tomes on her lap. When Webby wasn't super obsessed with McDragon lure, she was reading about history and violent battles. Dewey suspected being cooped up in the palace for all those years had given her a bit of bloodlust. Not that he'd said anything to her-she still intimidated him a little, even after all these years. Webby was...intense.
He loved her just the same, but he hadn't forgotten The Day of the Only Child, where she'd attacked him, or any number of other incidents where she'd jumped the gun and arrived at the worst possible conclusion. Part of the reason he hadn't told her how he felt about her was that he wasn't sure how she'd take it. The other part was that he was an awkward teenager and he didn't know how it would go down. Huey would've constructed a list detailing what Dewey should do and when, he wasn't much for spontaneity-but that wasn't Dewey's style.
Unfortunately, his style at present seemed to consist of saying and doing awkward stuff around Webby and wincing when he did something particularly stupid. What was it about girls that made boys act like idiots?
His mother was intent on her book, so much so that she didn't notice her middle son's approach. She looked up when his shadow fell over the book and beamed at him. Even though they'd had her back for five years, that smile still made him giddy. He'd never gotten over the novelty of having their mother back. He was struck anew by her presence and he hugged her.
"Hey, Dewey," she said. "What is it?"
He started and then she pretended to think, casting her gaze at the ceiling and putting her tongue to her teeth. "Oh, wait. It's Webby, isn't it?"
He stifled a groan. "How did you know?"
"One, you're not subtle," she said, tossing her head. Her long blonde hair swept her chair seat. "Two, you've been overthinking this, which isn't like you. If you want to ask Webby to be your partner at the dance, just ask her. You're not going to get anywhere by thinking it to death."
"I'd ask her to be my guest," he said, stepping back, "but we're all supposed to be hosting it. So I can't."
"You're afraid she's going to ask someone else, aren't you?" she inquired gently.
"She'll probably ask Lena," he said. "I don't know if they're just friends or something else. Webby's hard to read sometimes."
"I can talk to her," his mother reassured him. She stroked his cowlick and he flushed, knocking her hand away so he could rearrange it to his liking.
Dewey dragged a chair over to sit beside his mother. "How are the treatments going?"
"Shooting pains in my legs instead of numbness, so I guess that's progress," Della said. "They think that in a few weeks, I might be able to walk with assistance."
"That's great!" he exclaimed and then frowned. "Why haven't you told the others?"
"I don't want everyone to get their hopes up," she responded. She stroked Dewey's cheek. "But you I can trust. We've always had a special bond, haven't we? You're like me."
Dewey grinned. He couldn't help himself. Scrooge and Della played favorites, the latter trying to do so unobtrusively, but Dewey knew he was both his mother's and his great-uncle's favorite.
"Do you think you'll be able to dance at the ball?" he asked and she smiled weakly.
"You have to walk before you can run," she warned him and then hugged him again. "I feel like I'm constantly trying to make up for all those years of hugs I missed out on."
"I'm not going to say 'no' to a hug," he said, hugging her back. His mind, however, drifted right back to where it'd been before. Webby.
"What if she's interested in Lena and hasn't said anything because she's afraid of hurting my feelings?" Dewey burst out.
"I've known Webby for five years," his mother said with a wry smile. "She has no filter. I don't think that's your problem."
"What if-" he burst out and she shook her head at him.
"You'll drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking like that."
"What would you do?" he asked.
His mother frowned contemplatively. "I'd pick the perfect moment when the mood was just right, and then I'd tell her."
"So you think I ought to tell her at the dance?"
His only answer was a bright smile and he smiled back.
"I'll do that!" he vowed. "I'll ask her to dance and then I'll tell her. Thanks, Mom."
"I'll be rooting for you," she promised and beamed at him. He hugged her once more before skipping out of the room and looked for his brothers. Louie had settled in the living room and was surfing through his phone while he watched TV. Dewey cast a quick glance at the TV before shrugging and looking for Huey. He was closer to Huey anyway.
He found Huey in his bedroom-the three used to share a bedroom, but as they grew older, they'd decided to change the rooming arrangement. They were now in three separate bedrooms, but they were next door to each other and had adjoining doors.
Huey was frowning at a list and shaking his head as he wrote and then crossed out things. Dewey considered interrupting him, but his brother had been in an increasing foul mood as the ball came closer. If things weren't perfect, his brother would wig out. Dewey had seen it before. He and Louie were like polar opposites on that.
Scrooge was probably in his dungeon with his hoard and Mrs. Beakley-well, he wasn't going to seek her out. All that was left was to wait for Webby to return, with or without Lena. The problem of Lena gnawed at him again. He didn't know how Webby felt about her and it was grating.
He knew Lena probably had feelings for Webby. It was obvious when she looked at Webby when she thought no one was looking. Webby hadn't noticed yet or, if she had, she was keeping quiet about it. As his mother had said, the latter was unlikely. Webby hadn't noticed Dewey's crush on her either.
Or falling in love with her. He'd been in love with her for years now. The thought that Lena could take her away hurt, even if he knew Webby was entitled to a choice. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could leave his impression on her and she'd pick him.
There was a chance she'd pick both of them, which would be weird. But Webby was unpredictable like that. No, he'd prefer it one way or another, not the middle of the road option. She had to choose.
And he'd ensure she made the right choice.