“Thank you for coming, Atticus.” The woman greeted the villain with a cheek kiss before taking her seat.
“My pleasure. What seems to be the trouble?”
Wordlessly, she slid a vile of electric yellow ooze across the table. Atticus grimaced and nodded. Taking out a notebook and a pen, he started making a list. “Please have these gathered up while I prepare, thank you.”
As the moon rose that night, the villain crept into a cave several miles from town. A few minutes later, the cave mouth belched flames and a prehistoric roar that shook the stones.
“ATTICUS! I AM FINE! I DO NOT! NEED! HELP!”
“You have a COLD!” Atticus shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth to be heard over the crash of the dragon’s tail smashing rocks. “You are going to infect the region!” he yelped, barely ducking the onslaught.
The dragon reared its head back to sneeze and Atticus saw his chance. He hurled a flask at the beast’s nose and the air filled with salty smells and the sounds of sea sirens harmonizing. The sneeze came with hurricane haste and avalanching unpleasantries.
The dragon yawned sleepily and Atticus fired a small trebuchet. Soup flew into the wyrm’s maw, pot and all.
The exertion, the alluring magic, and the soup were too much. Eyes fluttering, the dragon lowered its neck and pressed it against the villain, nearly knocking him over. “You have poisoned me.”
“You’re immune to poisons, kiddo,” Atticus shushed as he stroked the dragon’s long snout affectionately.
“If you were anyone else, I’d eat you.”
“You and half the Netherworld. Rest up, old man. I’ll be back to check on you in a few days.”
“Thank you, Atty.”