Andromeda Jackson

Leo

I wish the dragon hadn't landed on the toilets.

Of all the places to crash, a line of Porta-Potties would not be my first choice. A dozen of the blue plastic boxes were set up in the factory yard, and Festus flattened them all. Fortunately, they haven't been used in a long time, and the fireball from the crash incinerated most of the contents; but still, there's some pretty gross chemicals leaking out of the wreckage. Andy and I have to pick our way through and try not to breathe through our noses.

Luckily, the heavy smell masks Andy's stink, which is a plus. I'd wanted to hug her so bad when I saw she was alive. I just couldn't believe that she was dead. Just the thought ripped the air from my lungs. I cannot believe that I've known this girl for all of two days, and she's gotten such a grip on me. Something about that aura of power she has drives me crazy, and she's so pretty and funny, it drives me up the wall. Not like someone as cool as her would ever be into me, but hey, a guy can dream.

Andy nods her head toward the dragon. "After you, Commander Toolbelt."

I raise an eyebrow. "Commander Toolbelt?"

She doesn't look happy, but her scowl lessens. "You heard me."

"I like it." I shrug.

After a few minutes climbing over Festus's inanimate body, I start to get irritated. The dragon looks perfectly fine. Yes, it fell out of the sky and landed with a big ka-boom, but its body isn't even dented. The fireball apparently came from built up gasses inside the toilet units, not from the dragon itself. Festus's wings are intact. Nothing seems broken. There's no reason it should've stopped.

"Not my fault," I mutter. "Festus, you're making me look bad."

Then I open the control panel on the dragon's head, and my heart sinks. "Oh, Festus, what the heck?"

"What?" Andy pulls herself up onto the dragon beside me. She glances over my shoulder and looks into the control box. "Oh, wow."

Even though she doesn't know much about machines, she can tell it's messed up.

The wiring has frozen over. I know it was okay yesterday. I worked so hard to repair the corroded lines, but something caused a flash freeze inside the dragon's skull, where it should be too hot for ice to form. The ice caused the wiring to overload and char the control disk. I can't see any reason that would happened. Sure, the dragon is old, but still, it doesn't make sense.

I can replace the wires. That isn't the problem. But the charred control disk is not good. The Greek letters and pictures carved around the edges, which probably hold all kinds of magic, are blurred and blackened.

The one piece of hardware I can't replace—and it's damaged. Again.

I imagine my mom's voice: Most problems look worse than they are, mijo. Nothing is unfixable.

My mom could repair just about anything, but I'm pretty sure she never worked on a fifty-year-old magic metal dragon.

I clench my teeth and decide I have to try. I'm not walking from Detroit to Chicago in a snowstorm, and I'm not going to be responsible for stranding my friends.

"Right," I mutter, brushing the snow off my shoulders. "Gimme a nylon bristle detail brush, some nitrile gloves, and maybe a can of that aerosol cleaning solvent."

Andy gives me a funny look. "Dude, what?"

I wink at her and reach into my toolbelt, and the tool belt obliges. I can't help smiling as I pull out the supplies. The belt's pockets do have limits. They won't give me anything magic, like Jason's sword, or anything huge, like a chain saw. I tried asking for both. And if I ask for too many things at once, the belt needs a cooldown time before it can work again. The more complicated the request, the longer the cooldown. But anything small and simple like you might find around a workshop—all I have to do is ask.