Dragon Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

before.
    I point forward to the smudges on the horizon that I know will soon grow into the condo towers and high-rise office buildings and hotels that crowd near the waterfront in Coconut Grove. “Watch, Henri, that’s Miami.”
    We rush forward, Henri’s eyes growing wider the closer to shore we come. Apartment buildings and hotels stretch into sight, then homes and marinas crowded with hundreds of boats.
    â€œPapa,” he says. “There are so many of them.”
    â€œYes, there are,” I say. “That’s why you have to remember what I told you.”
    I guide the Grady White past the main channel into Dinner Key Marina, turn into the channel to the north of it, point at the cream-and-green-colored office building towering over the land just beyond the docks. “That’s where we’re going,” I say.
    Henri says nothing, only nods.
    â€œAs long as you do what I taught you, you have nothing to fear, son. Just remember to behave.”
    He nods again, his eyes wide.
    Pulling my son close to me, hugging him, I say, “They’re just humans, Henri. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
    Henri stares at everything around us, swivels his head from side to side, his mouth open as we approach Monty’s docks, the boat gliding forward, its twin Yamahas purring. He says nothing while I maneuver the Grady White, back it into our slip, tie off our lines and kill the ignition.
    Silence washes over us, the boat rocking slightly, the heat of the late morning sun suddenly too intense now that we’re no longer speeding along. “We’re here,” I say, looking around, surprised to see how little has changed — the boats docked near us mostly the same as four years ago — the cheekees, brown palm-frond thatched, open-sided huts, still providing shade at Monty’s restaurant’s outdoor patio just a few yards from the dock. The air still tinged with the aromas of stale cigarette smoke, greasy food, gas fumes and stagnant salt water.
    Henri wrinkles his nose. “It smells funny.”
    I laugh. “It’s early. It’ll smell worse later.”
    Lifting my son, I place him on the dock, then step off the boat myself. I take his hand and lead him down the dock, toward the shore. Two couples pass us — the women, both blondes in bikinis, carrying towels and bags of food; the men, dark and Latin, wearing cutoffs, sharing the burden of a large red cooler.
    â€œGreat day for boating, isn’t it?” says the larger of the men.
    â€œSure is,” I say.
    Henri gapes at them. His right cheek twitches, the skin tightening.
    â€œHenri, stop! No changing!” I mindspeak before my son goes any further.
    â€œBut they make me hungry!” he blurts out.
    One of the blondes hears him, stops. “What did he mean by that?” she barks.
    I frown at her tone and resist the temptation to shock her with the truth. Instead, I shrug and say, “He’s a child. Who knows?”
    She stands still, stares at the boy’s face as the skin on his right cheek twitches and smooths back to its regular chubby state. Then, shaking her head, she rushes off to catch up to her party.
    â€œYou have to be careful of what you say and what you do, Henri,” I say.
    The boy looks away from me. Watches the people make their way down the dock. “Why, Papa? They did make me hungry.”
    I sigh, shake my head. I knew it was unrealistic to hope that Henri’s first venture into the outside world would go without incident. No matter how much I’ve taught him, the child’s too young and his instincts are too strong. Still, if I hope to travel in the near future, he has to learn how to behave around humans.
    â€œThey don’t know what we are, Henri,” I say, my voice harsh enough to make Henri study his feet.
    â€œYes, Papa,” he mumbles.
    â€œIf they did, it would scare them. Sometimes when people are scared of us, they