Seraph of Sorrow by MaryJanice Davidson

inside the jungle. In the periphery of his vision, something large stirred. It moved like a strange animal’s shadow against the luminescence around them. He caught his breath and whirled around, but it was gone.
    “Jennifer, did you see . . . ?”
    “What?” She looked at him with genuine confusion. “See what?”
    “I thought I saw . . .” A spider was how he was going to finish the sentence. Impossible here! Especially since the spider he thought he had seen was Otto Saltin, the thug who had died attacking the Scaleses a year ago.
    Something groaned deep within the moongroves, and he heard thick branches snapping. He stepped forward; again, there was nothing to see.
    “Geez, Jonathan,” he whispered to himself. He was starting to feel like a busty coed in a horror flick. “Relax already.” Then, in a louder voice, he resumed calling. What else to do? Ask the gecko for a duck boat tour? “Smokey Coils!”
    Jennifer joined in occasionally. Their voices carried a little, before the thick vegetation around them absorbed them. Once or twice Jonathan thought he saw a shadow or heard a sound. But nothing cast a shadow; nothing made a sound. His uneasiness increased.
    “Dad. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I don’t know.”
    His daughter gave him an anxious glance. “You’re making me nervous. Stop twitching!”
    “I’m not—” Quick as a thought, he looked back . . . and saw nothing once again. He faced front—and caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw what might have been a large lightning bug, perhaps the size of a coin, flashing at waist height. His ears picked up a tinny rubbing and clicking sound— zeep, zeep, plick . . . zeep, zeep, plick . When he stepped toward it, it blinked off and then reappeared a few feet away, among the ferns. Zeep, zeep, plick. Another step forward, and it vanished and reappeared again, this time below a head-high branch from a moongrove. Zeep, zeep . . . zeep, zeep . . . plick.
    “Smokey Coils?”
    The rough voice answered from behind the small, shimmering object.

    Little Jonny Scales.
    I know about you now, son.
    I know about you.

    An unseen force slammed into Jonathan’s jaw. By the time his vision returned, he was looking up at the glowing jungle canopy, and his daughter’s concerned expression.
    “Dad. I’m worried.”
    “Me, too.”
    “He’s going to speak in haiku the entire time, isn’t he?”
    He rubbed his pounding cheek. “Give me a wing claw up, will you?”
    She hoisted him up, about three seconds before Smokey knocked him down again, this time with a blow to the back of the head.
    He woke up shortly afterward. Jennifer was spitting invective into the jungle. Normally he would have chastised his daughter for using the words now pouring over her forked tongue. This time, he had to admit a few of them had occurred to him as well.
    “It’s okay, Jennifer.” He pushed off his wings and stood up again. His vision was blurry, but his mind was clearing. “Obviously he’s heard from Winona. Right, Smokey?”
    The disembodied voice answered.

Winona works fast.
But I had already known—
You’re no dragon’s friend.

    Jonathan thought it might be coming from the left and a bit above, and he turned to see the small flash.
    “I’m not your enemy, Smokey. My daughter and I are here because dragons are in danger, and you can help. If you want to help dragons, you could— dammit , knock it off!” He barely got the last out, since this time the blow hit him straight in the stomach. He was pretty sure it was Smokey’s tail.
    Even Jonathan, who had always prided himself on his camouflage, had to admit this was out of his league. There was not even a shift in the ambient light to announce movement, nothing but the small sparkle of what Smokey was holding. Knife? Key? Finger cymbals?
    He heard a soft whistle and flattened himself to the ground. From Smokey’s impressed humming, he figured he had avoided another tail blow.