Page 18 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

Emerson switches modes and starts instructing us on what’s to come as she herds us out of Wilde House and we head over to the ball.

Zander and Ellowyn wave down one of the horse-drawn carriages that are out tonight, creating a nice vintage feel to the cobbled streets on such a cold evening.

Zander shoos away three crows that have been perched on the back of the carriage as he helps Ellowyn climb inside. Rebekah and Frost flag down their own.

The rest of us walk, and we all arrive at the same time to go inside together. Emerson is waylaid by members of her committee

almost immediately, and I look around at the winter holiday wonderland she’s created in the community center. It looks like

half of St. Cyprian is here already, with more pouring in the doors by the minute. We know almost everyone, because small

towns are like that. The difference is that these days, everyone wants to make sure they know us too.

As we make our way through the crowd, we notice the Joywood contingent, huddled together in one corner. They’re dressed up,

but they don’t look... quite themselves. Festus has one pocket hanging inside out, which is just strange from a fastidious

man like him. Maeve is wearing mismatched shoes and an overlarge hat, as if trying to hide her hair. Felicia Ipswitch has

a bandage around her hand in a way that almost appears as though there’s no hand beneath it.

It’s creepy.

Creepier still, Carol is the only one who looks the same, if a little more shiny and resplendent than usual.

“I don’t like it,” Ellowyn says, and it’s what we’re all thinking.

Emerson catches up to me and looks at them while pretending not to, like all of us are doing right now. She leans in close.

“I think their power is dwindling,” she says in my ear. “Their influence isn’t as strong. They’ve lost, and it’s showing.”

I want to believe she’s right, but I don’t like how pleased they seem, despite all the dishevelment.

They smell smug , Azrael says in my head. Unhelpfully.

“Stop staring,” Zander orders us all in a low tone while grinning at a group of humans as we pass. “They live for that.”

“Besides,” Frost says in his icy way, “it’s unseemly for the winners to appear to gloat .”

He’s not wrong, so we move as a group toward a table where we can set down our things and maybe grab a plate of the appetizers being passed around on trays.

Emerson stops and talks to all the different people who flock to her, looking every inch the leader people respect and lean on—just as she always has. Even before we beat the Joywood.

Even when she thought she was human.

Before we can make another move, the Joywood descend upon us. Except they seem to be missing Felix.

“Another Cold Moon Ball packed to the gills,” Carol says cheerfully. I can’t stop staring at how happy and bright she looks,

especially when she beams at Emerson. “Another festival triumph for you.”

“You look like a big, ripe peach,” Maeve coos at Ellowyn and her big belly. “Aren’t you darling.”

Ellowyn freezes with an expression on her face that would have anyone normal running for cover, but this is the Joywood. I

watch her visibly control herself, and somehow not punch Maeve in the face.

Instead, she gets that familiar, faraway look of hers. “Did you know that during the 1600s, men were the ones who started

wearing high heels? Women only started wearing them to seem more masculine.”

Felicia turns to me as Festus frowns at Ellowyn. “You’re the big star of the show tonight, dearest Georgie, and don’t you look pretty.”

Dearest Georgie? I stare at her for a full moment before I manage to squeak out a “Thank you.”

The Joywood complimenting us and attempting endearments when they’ve been actively trying to murder us all year is too weird.

I don’t like it. I can tell that everyone else is equally unnerved.

Zander puts himself between the ripeness of Ellowyn and the other coven.

Frost looks cold and dangerous. Azrael is wearing a frown that a wise man would take as the warning it is.

Jacob, Rebekah, and I hold ourselves like we’re ready for an attack.

Emerson, on the other hand, nods as if these are really compliments and are exactly our due. She always has been better at

politics.

“Enjoy yourselves tonight, gang,” Gil says merrily.

Having never called us gang before. Ever.

Carol lifts a glass of champagne as if in a toast. “I’m sure everything will go swimmingly.”

They all laugh gaily—it’s blood-chilling, frankly—and then they turn and leave just the way they came. In shuffling half-disarray.

“Something weird is going on. I don’t think I’ve heard them say anything overtly menacing since Georgie got back,” Ellowyn

says, glaring at Maeve’s back. “That’s not like them.”

“Not even the usual dirty looks,” Rebekah adds, watching with great suspicion as Felicia leans over to whisper something to

Festus.

“Maybe it’s just an act so everyone thinks they’re fine with the transfer of power after their temper tantrum on Samhain,”

Emerson says, but her nose is wrinkled like she doesn’t quite believe it.

You need your fabulae for the spell , Azrael says in our coven channel. I don’t recall anyone inviting him to it, but here he is. And they know it. They’re expecting you to fail the spell tonight.

He sounds bored, likely because he’s busy plucking three pigs in a blanket from a tray that moves by us. He tosses all three

into his mouth at the same time and chews with obvious satisfaction.

We all turn and stare at Azrael. He hasn’t talked to us like this before, and he isn’t officially a member of the Riverwood, as far as I know, so he shouldn’t be able to.

But his ability to appear in all our heads says otherwise. And I suppose we don’t really know how one goes about becoming an official member when a coven has already won the ascension trials.

He looks back, unfazed. “I thought that was obvious.”

And now that he’s pointed it out, it sure seems obvious. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that myself.

I’m sure it had nothing to do with being distracted by soaring flights and the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

So if we do the spell and succeed, the Joywood will know we’ve unearthed a magical creature? I ask.

Azrael nods absently, his attention on another waiter bearing a tray of what look like cheese puffs. Maybe they won’t know . But they will surmise it, and with their black magic affinity, probably get to the bottom of things. Because the spell can

only work with a true coven.

But if we do the spell without Azrael and fail, everyone will think we’re as weak as the Joywood have always claimed we are , Emerson says to us, darkly, while smiling at another local business owner and asking after her restaurant.

“You know I love your new lunch menu, Corinne,” she says out loud, with a laugh. “I may or may not dream about your eggs Benedict

sandwich nightly.”

Beside her, somehow looking as if the only thought in his head is this party, Jacob smiles too.

The rest of us try to look like we’re not shocked. Though maybe we’re not, not really. We’re so used to roadblocks that at

this point, anything easy would feel like a trap. This is almost a relief. A nice Joywood is terrifying , and I, for one, find it a comfort that they’re just being dicks.

I can tell Emerson is considering a bunch of different options as she continues to chat with all the human and witch citizens

who come to say hello to her. I can see Ellowyn’s mouth move the way it does when she’s devising new tea and potion recipes,

her fingers twitching, which is a good indication she’s putting potions together from afar.

Like me, I imagine we’re all dismissing any ideas we come up with, because this is such a complicated situation.

But clearly we can’t do the spell in front of the Joywood.

And just as clearly, I think as Emerson and Jacob turn back to us, we can’t let anyone guess that we’re having a feverish

private discussion over here.

“I’ll take the fall,” I offer.

“What do you mean?” Emerson demands.

I ignore the golden-black eyes that immediately light up the side of my face.

I’ll dramatically realize I missed something. I’ll say Happy Ambrose’s notes weren’t clear. Big smile. Silly laugh. Dumb Georgie.

“No one thinks you’re dumb,” Azrael says, with heat. Maybe with disgust—enough that everyone else kind of... blinks at

him. Then exchange more of those glances I hate.

“That’s the point,” I hurry to say. “Everyone thinks I’m airy and dreamy. It’s easy to believe that I just missed one of the

keys because I was off in fantasyland. Because when am I not?” Just ask my mother. She’ll tell you I live there. “It buys

us some time.”

“But how much time?” Emerson shakes her head. “We have to do the ritual tonight.”

We could do it in secret , I respond to all of them.

Emerson frowns. I can tell she doesn’t like the idea, but it makes sense to me. We have to hide Azrael from the Joywood. There’s no option there.

Or , Azrael says, drawing the word out lazily, you could refrain from hurling yourself on an unnecessary sacrificial pyre and do the sensible thing.

He is now sipping from a champagne glass I’m not sure how he got. I didn’t see anyone offer him one. It’s festive, festooned

with cranberries and little sprigs of mint. It should look ridiculous in his huge hand.

It does not.

“I’m afraid to ask what you think is sensible,” I manage to say from between gritted teeth. Gritted teeth in the shape of a smile, that is. I’m not an animal.

The artifacts , Azrael says in all our heads.

What artifacts? Ellowyn asks. Georgie is the artifact expert around here.

Azrael waves down another passing waiter and simply liberates the woman’s tray. Even before we were killed, cursed, and the like, there were witches who liked to collect things from magical creatures. Unicorn

horns. Dragon tears. Fairy wings.