The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

leaving, she turned and said, "In the Outland, you would have all been made into jerky a long time ago." fifteen Steve Getting blown up had put the Sea Beast in a deep blue funk. Sometimes when he felt this way, he would swim to the edge of a coral reef and lie there in the sand while neon cleaner fish nipped at the parasites and algae on his scales. His flanks flashed a truce of color to let the little fish know that they were safe as they darted in and out of his mouth, grabbing bits of food and grunge like tiny dental hygienists. In turn, they emanated an electromagnetic message that translated roughly to: "I won't be a minute, sorry to bother you, please don't eat me."
    He was getting a similar message from the warmblood that was ministering to his burns, and he flashed the truce of color along his sides to confirm that he understood. He couldn't pick up the intentions of all warmbloods, but this one was wired differently. He could sense that she meant him no harm and was even going to bring him food. He understood that when she made the "Steve" sound, she was talking to him.
    "Steve," Molly said, "stopmaking those colors. Do you want the neighbors to see? It's broad daylight."
    She was on a stepladder with a paintbrush. To the casual observer, she was painting her neighbor's trailer. In fact, she was applying great gobs of Neosporin ointment to the Sea Beast's back. "You'll heal faster with this stuff on you, and it doesn't sting."
    After she had covered the charred parts of the trailer with ointment, she draped fiberglass fabric on as bandages and began ladling roof-patching tar over the fabric. Several of her neighbors looked out their windows, dismissed her actions as more eccentricities of a crazy woman, then went back to their afternoon game shows.
    Molly was spreading the roofing tar over the fiberglass bandages with a squeegee when she heard a vehicle pull up in front of her trailer. Les, the hardware guy, got out of the truck, adjusted his suspenders, and headed toward her, looking a little nervous, but resolved. A light dew of sweat shone on his bald head, despite the autumn chill in the air.
    "Little lady, what are you doing? I thought you were going to wait for me to help you."
    Molly came down from her ladder and stood with the squeegee at port arms while it dripped black goo. "I wanted to get going on this before dark. Thanks for coming." She smiled sweetly – a leftover movie star smile.
    Les escaped the smile to hardware land. "I can't even tell what you're trying to do here, but whatever it is, it looks like you mucked it up pretty bad already."
    "No, come here and look at this."
    Les moved cautiously to Molly's side and looked up at the trailer. "What the hell is this thing made of anyway? Up close it looks like plastic or something."
    "Maybe you should look at it from the inside," Molly said. "The damage is more obvious in there."
    The hardware clerk leered. Molly felt him trying to stare through her sweatshirt. "Well, if that's what you think. Let's go inside and have a look." He started toward the door of the trailer.
    Molly grabbed his shoulder. "Wait a second. Where are the keys to your truck?"
    "I leave 'em in it. Why? This town is safe."
    "No reason, just wondering." Molly dazzled him with another smile. "Why don't you go on in? I'll be in as soon as I get some of this tar off of my hands."
    "Sure thing, missy," Les said. He toddled toward the front door like a man badly in need of a rest room.
    Molly backed away toward Les's truck. When the hardware clerk laid a hand on the door handle, Molly called, "Steve!Lunch!"
    "My name isn't Steve," Les said.
    "No," Molly said, "you're the other one."
    "Les, you mean?"
    "No, lunch."Molly gave him one last smile.
    Steve recognized the sound of his name and felt the thought around the word "lunch."
    Les felt something wet wrap around his legs and opened his mouth to scream just as the tip of the serpent's tongue wrapped his face, cutting off his air. The last thing he saw was the bare breasts of the fallen scream queen, Molly Michon, as she lifted her sweatshirt to give him a farewell flash before he was slurped into the waiting maw of the Sea Beast.
    Molly heard the bones crunch and cringed. Boy, sometimes it just pays to be a nutcase, she thought.
    That sort of thing might bother a sane person.
    One of the windows in the front of the dragon trailer closed slowly andopened, a function of the Sea Beast pushing his meal down his throat but Molly took