Irena watched the flames perform a grand jeté across the logs. Her lips curved into a grimace as the hearth finished its tale. Fire tells its own stories if you can speak its tongue. Not all of its yarns were bitter, but this one had a way of reaching into Irena’s heart and squeezing out the sweetness. Irena waited for the story to end. She finished her coffee and rose with a pop of her knees.

Snow fell from the sky like melancholy spirits, making a bed over the crooked shed. Winter kept Irena’s bones together, but it wore on her coffee supply. The cottage’s old furnace rumbled as Irena shuffled from the fireplace to the kitchen. After shaking the last of her coffee into the percolator and setting it to brew, she looked to the wall calendar. Written in pencil today: The sun comes out. Below that, in bold red marker, a newer addition: Eden returns. Irena peeked from the round window over her sink as the furnace rumbled again from below the floorboards in the basement. Her daughter had purchased one of those fancy four-wheel drive cars, but Irena worried that it wouldn’t be able to scale the snow drifts around her home. Now if it were an ice warg, that would be different. The percolator bubbled. Irena poured the chocolate-colored brew into her mug, closed her eyes, and breathed in the steam.

“Eden,” she exhaled, “I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

Eden rested his head on the glass, watching pines as they passed. His mom, Anna, complained on her phone’s headpiece while navigating the SUV over the snow-caked roads. Their car warmer baked the interior, making Eden sweat uncomfortably. He didn’t complain. Anna was already flustered, and Eden feared that the slightest distraction would send the car careening into the high snowbanks. He gripped his armrests and tried not to watch her steer.

These days Anna only took Eden to Grandma Irena’s as a last resort, mostly because she once let him ride atop her tractor. It left him with a broken arm. After that Anna hired Indira as Eden’s full-time nanny. Indira was kind, responsible, and practical. Today, though, she had come down with a nasty case of the flu. Anna complained that it couldn’t come at a worse time, as she had her biggest meeting of the year. So together, Eden and Anna woke up before the stars fell and drove the hour from the city to Grandma Irena’s cottage. It had been years since Eden last visited, and as the car crushed snow over Turtle River bridge he remembered how untamed the back roads felt. He used to believe Grandma’s claims of saber-toothed tigers living by the stream. He knew better now.

As Eden continued to recollect, a hunched shadow in the distance grew larger. Eden recognized it; it hadn’t changed at all. The stone cottage hid in a cluster of naked ash trees atop of a hill; its roof was covered in snow. A shed and split-rail fence protruded from the yard’s sea of lace. Anna ended her phone call and pressed a button on the SUV’s dashboard.

“Hang on, kiddo,” she called out, squeezing the steering wheel. “Time for power.”

The SUV tore into the bank with a shrill from the tires. Eden’s stomach churned. The vehicle thrashed about until it reached the top of the hill. Eden noticed a set of footprints bounding from the front yard to the arched red door. His eyes wandered to the now-barren fairy garden as Anna struggled to free his wheelchair from the trunk. He remembered looking for pixies there one evening after Grandma Irena claimed she’d seen them cooking goulash.

Anna braced Eden in his chair and the pair made their way to the door. Grandma Irena was half deaf and Anna was in a hurry, so she didn’t hesitate to slam the lion-head door knocker as hard as she could. After a pause they heard feet shuffling from inside.

“Friend or foe?” a woman called out in a thick Eastern European accent.

“Ma,” Anna answered, “come on. We’re freezing out here.”

“Oh,” replied the voice.

A click and clank clattered before the door opened. There was Grandma Irena, timeless as an old boot. Her dyed tangerine hair stood up on one side as if she just rolled out of bed, and on the other it hung over pudgy cheeks and an aquiline nose. She wore a fuzzy blue robe with worn embroidery and untied work boots.

“There he is,” Irena cooed as Anna pushed Eden inside the squat foyer.

Eden scanned the cottage. He’d almost forgotten that Grandma Irena’s home was filled to the brim with antique furniture that looked like it had been decorated by circus clowns. A suit of armor guarded a set of striped chairs by a cobblestone fireplace. Tchotchkes invaded bookshelves, portraits stared from walls and a school of fish painted onto old water bottles posed over the loft. Eden used to think this place was enchanting. Now he dreaded the thought of spending half a day here.

“Okay, kiddo.” Anna kissed Eden on the head. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Have fun with Grandma.” Eden could only manage a grimace in reply. He and Irena stared from the foyer until the car disappeared from view, and then she secured the door and spun on her heels to face him.

“Well, then, good sir,” Irena said, “shall we start with taking this noble knight’s coat off?”

“Uh, sure,” Eden said, plain-faced.

“Do you remember the last time you were here? We tamed those unicorns eating my grass.”

He fixed his gaze onto the floor. “Kind of. I mostly remember falling off that tractor and hurting my arm.”

“Oh.” Irena reached to help Eden take off his coat. “So you did. A small price to pay to observe unicorns in their natural habitat. You’ll be glad to know that since then the tractor has been put down and used for sausage.”

“Sure, Grandma.”

Irena hung Eden’s coat on a ship’s wheel affixed to the entryway wall. She then squeezed off his dry black boots and studied them before placing them near his pack.

“Come,” Irena requested with a wave of her knobby hands as she made her way into the front room. Eden pushed the joystick of his electric wheelchair, kicking it into forward motion. “I thought we could start with a feast in your honor. Then afterwards maybe we could read about magic and try out a spell or two. Or, if you’d like, we could always try to find that pixie treasure in the garden. Remember when we caught them cooking goulash?”

Eden blew his bangs from his eyes. “I’m not that hungry right now, Grandma. My smart pad is in my pack. Maybe I could just play some games on that for a while.”

“Smart pad? That sounds dull. It reminds me of the time I had to quest to find the smartest woman in Persia, though. Would you like to hear about it?”

“Uh, not now, Grandma, thanks.”

Irena’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I suppose a game or two on your paddle thing wouldn’t hurt.” She stood and ambled to Eden’s pack, unzipped the top and dug inside. “Toot toot, Eden, you really must organize this haversack. Your potions are mixed up with your travel maps. That will never work. Have you ever tried to drink a map? I have. It tastes terrible.”

“Grandma.”

“Yes, yes.” Irena withdrew the smart pad and brought it over. He powered it on without looking at the screen, trading glances with her as she wrung her hands. “What say I make you your favorite butterscotch cocoa while you play?”

“Uh, that hasn’t been my favorite since I was five.”

“Alas. What would you like then?”

Eden swiped his game open. “Water, please.”

Irena shuffled back to the kitchen while Eden loaded his game. His deadly commando slogged through the urban jungle of Bogotá while a cacophony of plates and glasses clanked from the kitchen. After about fifteen minutes, he wondered what was taking Grandma Irena so long. He put the game on pause and drove to the kitchen where a loud buzzing horn greeted him.

“Surprise!” Irena shouted after another blow from a kazoo. A cake covered in a mountain of white icing and crowned with a single lit candle sat in the center of the kitchen table. Eden’s old cat, Mistletoe, whom Irena had taken in after Anna found out she was allergic to felines, sat indignantly with a paper hat on his head. “Happy birthday, Eden! It’s your favorite—vanilla layer cake with marshmallow frosting.”

“Grandma, my birthday was three months ago.”

“Yes, well, this was the first time we could get together. I thought it might be nice.”

“Uh, yeah.” Eden lowered his gaze. “It is. Um, thanks.”

“Don’t say thanks until you’ve tasted it. I don’t remember if I used hen or basilisk eggs.”

Eden and Mistletoe endured Grandma Irena’s hummed birthday song while she passed out pieces of cake on pumpkin-shaped Halloween plates. He took a few bites, emptied his water glass, and yawned.

“Delicious?” she inquired as Mistletoe excused himself by pawing his hat off before leaping to the ground.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“Now that you have a full belly, I was thinking you might be up for a little sledding.”

“Grandma.” Eden rubbed the back of his neck. “Mom said I shouldn’t go outside. Besides, the chair can’t make it through the snow.” Eden stared down at his willowy legs, cast in braces.

“Sir Eden, when has that ever stopped you before? A knight doesn’t get glum about some simple matter like not having good legs.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s true. Mom says I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself, but, well, you know.”

“If you insist, Sir Eden.” She ran Mistletoe’s dish through water. “Say, what about we play a game of royal chess? You were quite the general. I can’t imagine how your strategies have strengthened.”

“Um, would you mind if I maybe just read a book?”

“Oh. What shall we read? Elves of Arcadia? The Sea Nymph Compendium?”

“Actually, I brought my own book.”

“Delightful. What is it?”

“Computer Coding for Middle Schoolers.”

“Well, if it’s for school, I suppose you must.”

“It’s not for school. I just like it.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll throw a log on the fire and then we can read it.”

“I, uh, kind of just want to read it by myself.”

“I see. Well, I guess I could tidy up while you enjoy your book. Come, Sir Eden, finish your feast.”

Eden stabbed at his cake, eating several more pieces in a show of goodwill. Afterwards, the pair moved to the front room, where Grandma Irena pretended to tidy up while Eden dipped into his book. Eden kept track of his grandma from behind the pages as she stoked the dead fire, swept the clean floor and straightened her Matryoshka dolls. Every so often she peeked at Eden, only to have her glances be determinedly ignored. Finally, after an hour of pretend chores, she interrupted Eden’s studies.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Sir Eden,” she said as she put down her red broom, “I suppose I’ll go upstairs for a much-needed bubble bath. Will you be okay by yourself?”

Eden dropped his book to his lap. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

Eden’s eyes followed her through the mezzanine as she climbed the thirteen stairs that once made up Mount Calamity. She gathered a towel from the hallway closet once infested with trolls and trailed into the bathroom where the pair discovered Atlantis. Eden felt a twinge of guilt, but he couldn’t afford to give his grandma what she wanted any longer. He wasn’t a boy, and the bitterness he felt when Anna explained that Grandma’s world wasn’t real still sat strong in his mouth.

Mistletoe jumped into Eden’s lap, and he smiled as he ran his hand through his soft fur.

“I don’t suppose you care about Grandma’s fairyland, huh? You’ll believe anything as long as you get scratches.”

Mistletoe considered Eden for a moment before leaping from his lap. He sauntered to the nearby basement door and gave Eden one last flash of his emerald eyes before vanishing beyond it. Eden didn’t remember the basement fondly. It was the only room in the cottage that scared him when he was little. His grandma had dubbed it “the dungeon” and rarely took Eden down because of its steep stairs.

As Eden thought back, a sudden thunderous rumble shook the house from beneath him. There were several heavy thumps, then a faint tangerine flash of light from the crack leading downstairs. Eden inched his chair forward to try and make sense of it. Smoke billowed from the breech in the doorway and stung his nostrils as a low, pain-ridden yowl from Mistletoe echoed below.

“Uh, Grandma?” Eden called out. He only heard the quiet sounds of splashing water in reply. “I think Mistletoe is hurt.” Eden called out several more times to no avail. A deep grinding noise followed by the shattering of glass clambered downstairs.

“It’s cool. I’m not scared. There has to be a reasonable explanation.” Then, a loud boom accompanied by Mistletoe’s hiss brought all the frightening tales about the dungeon to the front of his mind. “Okay, I’m a little scared.” He balled his fist and shook it at the door. “You stupid cat. Of all places, why the dungeon?”

Eden’s eyes drank in the room, searching for any tools that could help him open the door. He spotted the red wooden broom and armed himself with it. He inched his chair towards the basement door and used the broom’s handle to nudge it open. A second flash of orange briefly illuminated the stone staircase. Eden edged closer, staring into a gullet of black that seemed all too eager to swallow him up.

“Mistletoe,” he said into the shadows, “come on.”

He heard Mistletoe whimper weakly in response.

Eden had made it to the top of the stairs when his chair bucked unexpectedly, flinging him from his seat and down the steps. The broomstick broke his initial fall, but as he rolled down the edges of the stairwell jabbed at his ribs and shoulders. Eden moaned at the bottom as he inspected himself. He had tiny scratches on his palms, but didn’t appear hurt.

“I hate you, cat.”

Eden sat up. It was dark. A set of white-sheeted spirits hung from a line, floating along the prison where they lost their lives. Jars of green eyeballs and round red hearts sat along the walls. Chains hung from rafters. Eden could make out what looked like bloody paw prints trailing into the furnace room. Mistletoe bellowed inside. Eden wanted to run, but he couldn’t abandon Mistletoe. His legs might not have worked, but Grandma Irena once told him it made other parts of him stronger. He used his sinewy arms to drag himself forward.

“I’m coming,” he said while pulling himself towards Mistletoe. He passed a valley of fallen soldiers. Their corpses were nothing more than piles of clothes over bone. Eden braced himself on the rusty washer near the threshold and squinted inside. The room was blackened like burnt bone. Then, suddenly, two great carnelian eyes cut through the darkness. They were as large as headlights and brought with them a terrible growl.

Eden gasped. The creature’s maw opened to reveal sharp fangs jailing hot embers. Mistletoe meowed behind the beast’s tail. Eden tried one last time to justify what was before him. Unable to come up with an explanation, he decided to do what any hero would do. He would fight.

He jabbed his broom-shaped lance forward. The end struck the creature, causing it to jerk back. The monster released a column of flame that barely flew over the boy’s head. Eden swallowed the spur in his throat. The truth was now undeniable: he was facing off against a real, live dragon.

Eden took cover behind the washer next to the dried up husk of a burnt challenger. A second burst of fire spewed into the laundry room. He glanced at the stairs, his bravery beginning to betray him. But as the beast caught its breath Eden could hear Mistletoe’s pleas for help. He couldn’t leave the innocent Prince of Arabel behind. They’d been through to many adventures together. He thought back to all the tales Grandma Irena told by the fireplace: the quests knights went on were always for the village, always for the king, always for the maiden, but never for themselves. Warriors faced insurmountable odds. They clashed against enemy armies. They fought off invincible giants. Evil was to be vanquished, no matter how it was done. That’s when Eden remembered Grandma Irena’s tale of Sir Collin and the Wide-Eyed Formorian. It was a grand tale, but its lesson was simple. If you can’t beat it…go for the eyes. Eden tucked the broom’s bristles under his left arm and clutched the pole like a lance.

“For chivalry!” he cried out as he crawled forward with an arm.

Surprised, the beast cocked its head before realizing that Eden was on the assault. The monster chuckled, watching the boy drag himself closer, but Eden didn’t waver. He covered the last few feet between them and drove his lance as hard as he could into the dragon’s left eye. The dragon roared in pain and clawed at its brow, spurting out a fountain of fire that blackened the tip of Eden’s lance. Eden rolled towards the beast’s good eye, took aim and shoved his weapon forward again. When the dragon recoiled, Eden saw Mistletoe pinned beneath the creature’s backside.

Eden wound his lance back one last time and tossed it at the dragon’s rear. The monster cried, releasing Mistletoe. The cat, far less courageous than Eden, darted out of the furnace room. Eden followed as the dragon blindly crashed through the wall. Mistletoe had already reached the top of the stairwell. Eden used both arms to make it to the steps and clamber up them as fast as he could. He stumbled several times, smashing his nose bloody as the sounds of the angry dragon grew closer. Eden pushed forward to reach the top step, but as he did a blindingly bright light burst from nowhere, glaring into his eyes.

“Goodness, what is going on here?” asked Irena, standing in a wet robe and blocking his only exit. Eden was dirty and his nose ran ruby. He didn’t bother to answer, instead stretching out his hand for her to grab. Irena pulled Eden up to the main level and he hurried to shove the basement door closed. He couldn’t hear the beast any longer. He slumped back in relief.

“Dragon problems,” he said.

Eden’s mom returned late that afternoon and she let herself in. Harp music played from an antique record player, and the kitchen sink, full of red water, gurgled as it slowly drained. Anna gasped when she stepped into to the front room where Eden, Irena, and a freshly bathed Mistletoe wrapped in a towel sat near the hearth. Eden wore a steel helmet to complement the bloodied tissue stuffed up his nose as he recounted his brave actions.

“So, with my lance now blackened,” Eden said, waving his hands, “I pierced the dragon’s eyes, but the monster would not surrender. With no wizard to protect me, and no other weapons at my side, I had but one choice. I held true. Saving Prince Mistletoe was my quest, and even battered and bruised I’d fight onward for his honor.”

“I’m so sad that I missed it,” Grandma Irena said as she bit into a cookie. “If I’d had my druthers, I’d have helped you vanquish that dragon with my potions.”

Anna, her face stern, cleared her throat. “Hey kiddo, did we have another mishap?”

Eden and Irena jumped in their seats, startled.

“Nothing to worry about,” Irena said. “Eden was just telling me about his daring rescue of Mistletoe.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Not again, Ma. What are you telling him?” Eden took a breath, ready to defend his grandma, but she waved him off.

“Oh, no,” Grandma Irena insisted, “nothing like that. I was bathing when Mistletoe cracked one of my jam jars downstairs. He must’ve been startled by the furnace and lodged himself underneath. Eden did a kindness by getting him out but took a tumble in the process.”

“I’m good, Mom,” Eden said.

“Well,” Anna sighed, jiggling her keys, “did everything else go okay?”

“Yeah.” Eden rubbed at the tenderness in his bicep. “Hey, Mom, I was wondering, can I come to Grandma’s again in a few weeks? There’s a garden I want to help with.”

Anna’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Uh, sure, kiddo.”

Anna packed Eden into the car and thanked Irena near the door. Eden stared from his throne in the backseat at his grandma, who stood as ambrosial as wind through a new bride’s hair. They exchanged grins as a dragon’s heat breathed from the SUV’s vents. Anna gave Irena one final hug before packing into the car. Though it was late, the remaining daylight broke through the clouds to color the road home. And as the SUV drove off, Eden could have sworn that he saw the house shake off its blanket of snow to sunbathe.

Justin Alcala is a novelist, nerdologist and Speculative Literature Foundation Award Finalist. He’s the author of four novels, including Consumed, The Devil in the Wide City, Dim Fairy Tales, and A Dead End Job. His short stories have been featured in dozens of magazines and anthologies, including “It Snows Here” (Power Loss Anthology), “The Offering” (Rogue Planet Press Magazine) and “The Lantern Quietly Screams” (Castabout Literature). When he’s not burning out his retinas in front of a computer, Justin is a tabletop gamer, blogger, folklore enthusiast, and time traveler. He is an avid quester of anything righteous, from fighting dragons to acquiring magical breakfast eggs from the impregnable grocery fortress. Justin lives under the rule of his dark queen, Mallory, their dark sorceress daughter, Lily, warlock son, Ronan, hellcat, Misery, and hound of Ragnarök, Fenrir. Where his mind might be though is anyone’s guess.