The Dragons of Heaven by Alyc Helms

ooh-ed and ah-ed as Mrs Hu plunked the cups and pot on the bare table. Even Gunther looked impressed, and Jill was in awe. I tamped down on the irrational envy that my friends might be witnessing the illusion of a formal tea ceremony being performed by a master.
    Swampy-looking water sloshed over the sides of our cups as Mrs Hu poured out. Yellow foam floated on the surface, and I thought I spied… yup. Those were larvae of some kind. Something I’d learned during my brief stint on the streets: if you were hungry enough, you could eat just about anything. Problem was, I wasn’t hungry. Not this hungry. I swallowed down my bile as I stared into my cup.
    While Mrs Hu poured, her man-thing plunked plates in front of us. Each one sported a fibrous leaf smeared with mud. The spread looked like the tea parties I used to throw for my grandfather in our garden: muddy water and leaf-surprise. Unlike my grandfather, I couldn’t get away with pretend sipping.
    â€œWell, eat,” Mrs Hu snapped. Knowing I’d lose my nerve if I had to watch the others chowing down, I snatched up one of the mud-leaves. Maybe the hag would mistake my haste for eagerness.
    Before I could think too much about what I was doing, I bit down. I had a fleeting sense of tasting compost, things long dead and rotting, iron, grit, and the juicy pop of earthworms, and then it was gone. The earthiness turned sweet like yams, the pop became the crunch of dough fried to a light crisp. I pulled the treat away, looking at it in astonishment. I wasn’t sure why I expected it to taste bad. Red bean paste pancakes were my favorite.
    I put the pancake down and lifted my tea, taking a deep breath of the floral brew. Not jasmine, that would have been trite.
    â€œWhat is this? Chrysanthemum?” I asked, sipping from the delicate cup.
    â€œLotus blossom, dear,” Mrs Hu responded, her eyes bright. She winked and bent over me, her whisper loud enough for all to hear, “but don’t tell my secret, or all the other tea houses will run me out of business.”
    â€œNot likely,” Claire said, leaning forward to talk past Gunther’s bulk. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a nicer tea than this. Don’t you agree, Anita?”
    â€œOh yes. I wish we could lure you to Suffolk, Mrs Hu. Lucy would turn green with envy.”
    Lucille is the head of the Ladies’ Auxiliary,” Claire said. “She’s Anita’s arch nemesis.”
    I nodded along with the others as Mrs Hu bustled around us, refreshing the treats with cheerful industry.
    Cradling my cup, I settled into the warmth of camaraderie, happy to let my attention drift between conversations. The cousins and Gunther debated the merits of obscure poets – or, at least, poets I’d never heard of, so maybe not that obscure. Mr Hu dozed in a chair in the corner, while Jill and Mrs Hu exchanged herbal tonic recipes. Like me, Jim seemed content to play observer to the conversations. Except his brow was furrowed.
    â€œJim? What’s wrong?”
    He smiled, but it faded again into a frown. His eyes darted about, like he was looking for something that he thought should be there, but wasn’t. “I don’t know. Nothing. Right?”
    I didn’t want Mrs Hu to see his distraction and take unintended insult, so I nudged him to face me, lowering my head so the others wouldn’t catch my whisper. “Jim?”
    â€œI just… there’s something…” He paused, chewing on his lip. “About buses? I’m not sure.” He glanced down at my hand on his arm, and his vague distress sharpened. “Missy, what happened to your hand?”
    â€œHuh?” I glanced down as well. Two long, red scrapes marred my skin. “Huh. I wonder when that happened. It must have been…” I tried to think, but it was fuzzy. I shrugged. It couldn’t have been that important.
    â€œIt was when you were in the