First Spell

Albatross’s claws curled into the sand, his gaze anchored on a spot over Fathom’s shoulder. “‘That’s mine!’ I yelled. ‘Oh, is this your precious treasure?’ Sapphire cooed, peeling my talons off it easily. ‘Everything you have will be mine when I’m queen, you know. Even stupid beach trash like this.’” Albatross took a deep breath.
“I don’t know why I spoke to the shell next instead of her — maybe because I’d been pretending it was real, or maybe because of some animus instinct curled up inside me. But I did. I squeezed the edge of it that I still held and I shouted, ‘Bite her! Bite all her claws off!’ and then I let go.”
Fathom’s jaw fell open in shock. Albatross finally looked at him again and winced.
“I know. You are lucky that your talent was discovered in a much less gruesome way,” he said, touching his chest absently, as if remembering the pain. “It took several days for all the blood to wash away from the beach. Sapphire, of course, could never be queen after that — a dragon with no claws cannot hunt or fight, and as for swimming … well, who looks like a feeble old duck now.” He barked a dry laugh. “She went a little mad, I’m afraid. Now she is kept on an island far away from everyone else, tended by two very well-paid servants. Lagoon visits her occasionally, but I never have. I assume Sapphire would prefer never to see me again.”

Darkstalker C3