Page 19 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

He pops the appetizers into his mouth without offering any around, or even acting like what he’s doing is strange. If asked,

I plan to shrug and remind folks that he’s a Brit, supposedly. Who knows what they do over there?

Frost begins to slowly nod. Yes, I remember something about an adze fang someone I knew claimed to have seen. Among other things.

I straighten because I heard a rumor about an adze fang when I was in Ghana, gathering one of the keys.

We procure one of these, claim it has the magic of a fabulae imbued on it, and then the spell can go off without the Joywood

suspecting a thing , Azrael says, sounding even lazier, probably because that’s actually malice and aimed at Frost.

But it’s also a great idea.

Wouldn’t they suspect something since even knowing we need an artifact means we know we need a magical creature? Zander asks.

Georgie will tell everyone she’s been researching. Azrael sounds impatient in our heads, but all I can think about is how strange it is that he called me Georgie instead of Georgina . It makes me feel funny.

I don’t like it.

As she has, in fact, been lost in her research, she can simply say she discovered references to the powers imbued in these

artifacts. That’s the sort of thing that’s in Frost’s library, isn’t it? Azrael looks at me, almost accusingly. “Everyone knows Georgie’s penchant for fairy tales and other such stories. Why wouldn’t she discover these things?”

I don’t like him calling me Georgie any better out loud, I find. So much so that I barely have time to worry over the fairy-tale reference and the image of that

new cover in my mind.

Goddess, what I would do to feel his mouth on my—

But we don’t have time , Jacob says, snapping me back to the here and now. How can we find out where these artifacts are, go get them, and bring them back so fast? He shakes his head. “The ritual must be done tonight.”

“ Hello , we could lie.” Rebekah rolls her eyes. “There are no points for purity in a fight for the fate of the world, are there?”

We conjure something up. Have Azrael give it some magic. Done.

“I support this plan completely,” Ellowyn says, her eyes narrowed in the direction of the Joywood.

But I’m shaking my head, because we don’t need to go to such lengths. “It’s okay. I know where they are.”

Everyone’s gaze moves from Rebekah—and Azrael—to me, and suddenly I wish I still felt that sense of dislocation. Instead of

being in the hot seat.

Every single library or archive I visited to get the keys had its own rumor about magical artifacts. That’s how I tracked

them down so quickly. I just mapped out all the ones that I could find rumors about and went there.

But it dawns on me that when I mapped them all out, my travel route formed an eight, an infinity... with St. Cyprian at

the center.

I thought it was just a number then, but now I realize it’s not.

It was a message. One about true covens.

The Joywood are watching , Zander points out. They’ll notice if one of us leaves. Worse, they’ll follow, and we don’t want them figuring what we’re up to.

But we have a secret weapon, don’t we? I look up at Azrael. “They’ll pay attention to us , but not to Pete from London.”

Azrael’s grin is slow, and maybe only I can see the dragon flickering behind it. “I’m a tiny Anglo-Saxonish human, pale and

wan and easily overlooked as I wander about, doing incomprehensible British things.”

Zander laughs, then frowns like he didn’t mean to.

All right. We’ll split up , Emerson says, laying out the plan. Do rounds. Dance. Enjoy. Azrael will slip away once he’s sure no one’s paying attention to him, get an artifact, and bring

it back before midnight.

We all nod in agreement, then begin to pair off. Jacob and Emerson go out and dance. Zander heads off to get Ellowyn food

before she incinerates someone with her hangry gaze—or her inability to speak anything but the truth. Rebekah sits with her

while Frost stalks about the perimeter, clearly intimidating everyone he passes.

It occurs to me that he enjoys it, that this is what Rebekah means when she claims he’s funny. He’s like Darcy at the country

dance and everyone flutters about in his wake—and he knows it.

I’m almost smiling myself when my scan of the party leads me to my parents.

I haven’t spoken to them since I got back. I could pretend I’ve been busy. I have been busy. But more importantly, I’ve also been avoiding them.

Tonight’s a good night to approach them, I think. We’re in public, and Pendells don’t draw attention to themselves in public.

“My parents are here,” I say to Azrael. Excuse me, to Pete . “I should go say hi.”

Azrael gets that shifty sort of look on his face, the way he did when he talked about my parents’ friendship with the Wildes.

“I’ll take the opportunity to wander off and then not return for a bit.”

I’m frowning at my parents, but I turn it on him. “Are you sure you should disappear so soon?”

“The sooner I’m off, the sooner I can be back.” He shrugs, but that grin tells me he’s looking forward to his mission tonight.

“Who knows what trouble I might run into?”

I frown harder at him, but his gaze is on my parents as he bends over and brushes a kiss across my cheek.

Because that’s the ruse, I remind myself as my entire body shivers into wildfire and longing. We’re supposed to be a couple.

And couples kiss. There is no need to ignite in the middle of the holiday party.

No need for wild daydreams about fate .

My fake boyfriend looks down at me, a flash of another fire, like something is confirmed. Then he prowls off. And when I turn

to look back at my parents, I can see my mother heading toward me in her usual forthright, prow-of-a-ship way, my father trailing

behind.

I fix a bright smile on my face. “Mom. Dad.”

“Georgina,” Mom replies, and there’s a very distinct difference between the way she says my full name and the way Azrael says it. She is full of cold disdain, not all that lovely spark and flame.

But there’s no point thinking of dragons who aren’t in the room. “It’s good to see you.”

Mom’s smile is frigid, as usual. “Is it? It seems to me that if that were true, we would have seen you before now.”

She leans forward, and there’s that brittle anger swathed all around her that I haven’t seen in a while. Mostly because I

avoid it—and her—but also because being part of the lead coven is kind of a big deal. Even to her. I was beginning to imagine

that she might actually be proud of me for once.

“Did I just see you... kissing a human ?” she asks in a horrified tone.

I stare at her blankly. Azrael barely kissed my cheek.

“I’ll have to introduce you to Pete some other time,” I say. “He wasn’t feeling well. Too much American food, I think. Did I mention I met him in England?”

“ Pete ,” my mother echoes. “Of course it’s a Pete from England . I need a drink.”

But when she marches off, Dad remains. I give him a real smile. I may not understand why he stays with my mother, but he’s always been my soft place to land. I’m grateful

for him.

“I already met my reading goal for the year,” he says, as if the entire interaction with my mother didn’t happen. “Isn’t that

something?”

I rest my arm across his shoulders. “It is quite the achievement. What was the best one?”

He tells me about some thousand-page tome from the fourteenth century, and normally I would listen intently, but I’m thinking

about a million other things tonight. Azrael and magical creatures. Artifacts and spells. Cold Moons and long, dark nights,

some of them spent high in the sky, surrounded by stars.

Dad gives me a little squeeze. “I should head back to your mother. It was good to catch up, princess.”

“You too, Dad. Once we’re fully ascended, you’ll have to come by and see the archives.”

He nods, but pauses. And he doesn’t leave or take his arm from around my waist. “Just remember, when you get all those facts

you’re so fond of, not to forget that facts are not always the whole story.”

I stare at him. “What does that mean?”

Dad squeezes me again, an odd expression on his sweet face. “You’ll always be my little princess.”

He says this like he’s saying goodbye. “Hey,” I say. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course it is.” But he looks sad now. I’m sure he does, even through the smile. “I’m proud of you and your coven. It’s

making me sentimental.”

I guess that makes sense, but the interaction still leaves me feeling... off.

As my father shuffles off to find my mother, I see Dane and Cailee Blanchard walk in, arm in arm, wreathed in smiles. I bet

that to everyone in the room they probably look like the perfect, happy couple—if you like that kind of smug blondness.

But I know they’re not.

Everything in me feels tight, constricted. I know Azrael has flown off to hunt down some artifact . The Joywood are watching our every move. And my mother is performatively nursing the one drink she will allow herself all

night, the better to watch everyone else and shred them to pieces—with facts, only the cold, hard facts—when she gets home.

I need some air. The Joywood might think it’s fishy, but if they follow me out the side door or send one of their sickly familiars,

all they will see is a woman in desperate need of some breathing room and solitude.

I make my way outside, ditzing my way past anyone who wants to talk to me. As soon as I make it outside, I gulp in a deep

breath of the icy air. Once. Again.

Everything is going as it should. Everything is good . We will get the artifact, do the spell, and I will finally have access to the archives reserved for the ruling coven only. I will finally have all the knowledge.

My father’s words about facts and truth and stories come back to me, but I don’t want to think about that. About complications

and difficulties.

Truth is the answer. Always.

I take a deep breath and look out into the early December night. Moonlight dapples the surface of the river. In the distance,

I can see the pulse and twining of the other two as they braid together into the confluence, brimming with magic and light.

That’s the reason we’re all here, fighting to make it the way it should be.

Not the way it’s been for as long as I can remember.

And the longer I stand there, the more it’s like the rivers are singing a little song. But I can’t quite hear it. The melody

is haunting, and I think that really, I should get closer and then maybe—

“Georgie.”

I turn and there’s Sage.